Indiana Jones and the Secret of the Holy Medallion
by Bombur Jo
Summary: NOW COMPLETED! Indiana Jones and his father join a girl on a race to find her family treasure. Nazis, snakes, rats... It's pure Indiana Jones! EDIT, 8 16 06: I've also edited several chapters for terrible German and a few typos. Thanks for reading!
1. A Capture

**DISCLAIMER:**  I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  Hey there!  Thanks for taking an interest in my fan fiction story.  I wrote this a couple of years ago to play around with some of my favorite characters, and to develop my writing.  I thought I'd share it with fellow _Indiana Jones_ fans.  Please enjoy!

Chapter 1

Athens was alive and awake. The sun rose above the mountains and poured sunlight down into the capital city, glimmering like golden honey. Vendors and barterers had already taken positions at convenient places on the cobblestone streets, waiting for customers.

But then an unusual roar grew from within the town; pedestrians turned in confusion. In this part of the city, there were few cars due to the narrow streets, and that was the only thing to which the loud disturbance could be related. 

A tan-colored jeep pulled around the corner, dispersing the peddlers and sending tourists scrambling to safety. A large sticker had been pasted on the car's doors—it was the emblem of Hitler. The jeep continued on its way, leaving the citizens of Athens to wonder what in heaven had brought the imposers of evil to their city.

The city's library was old and crumbling; at its entrance, the Nazi jeep slowed to a stop. People watched in terrified curiosity from within their homes, daring not to go outside and investigate. 

Three soldiers disembarked from their vehicle, leaving two behind as sentries. They climbed the gray steps and entered by way of the large mahogany doors, shoving them open with guns drawn. 

Hanging lamps that were almost certain to go out at any second dimly lit the building, attached to wooden scaffolding by weak, rusty chains. The librarian's desk was empty, and the soldiers passed it, ignorant. They were not there to read.

The library was not busy at the early hour of the morning. Only a few scholars sat at the tables reading, but at the sight of the weapon-wielding Germans they sat up in petrified fear. 

The soldiers passed them by after looking them carefully in the face for a moment, making their way back into the rear of the library. They moved through the darkened rows of rotting shelves, having to climb over boxes filled with imported books every once in a while. They occasionally bumped into a surprised stock boy or a person lost within the maze, but all the soldiers did was hurry them on their way. 

At last they reached the backside of the library where a single, round table was set up in a corner. A late middle-aged man sat with his back to the shelves, books piled up about him next to an umbrella and battered leather suitcase. A dark-colored hat rested atop the suitcase beside a light gray jacket. The man had unbuttoned his vest of the same color, which he wore over a white dress shirt. He had also undone his bowtie and let it hang loose from underneath his collar. He seemed to have been sitting there for a long time, resting with his head supported in the palm of his right hand. 

The soldiers smiled at each other and fanned out to surround the man, knowing they had found who they were looking for.

The leader held his gun to the older man's neck, just behind the left ear. The man stiffened immediately and slowly raised his hands, his head lowering under the pistol. 

"Good morning, Dr. Jones," the Nazi greeted malevolently in his thickly accented voice. "You will come with us, now."

Thanks for reading, please review!


	2. Lyddie

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Here's the second chapter, everyone! I hate to leave everyone hanging. :) We meet Lydia Marques, a teenager with a family secret, and Colonel Hedrick Velheim, Nazi.

Chapter 2

The morning dawned bright and clear in Berlin, waking the scores of Nazi soldiers and their commandants. The red and white flag, embroidered with a giant swastika, flapped hauntingly in the light wind.

Fear was something to be expected here, and as Lydia Marques was dragged from her accommodations underneath the Nazi headquarters, she felt the terror of a thousand people, smelled the blood of numerous murders. She did not want to add to the death count.

_If only Mama and Papa were here_, the girl thought fleetingly.

As she was pushed and pulled along drab, dirty hallways, other prisoners begged to be set free, banging on doors and rattling bars on windows. Dirty hands reached out for the passing trio. They were ignored.

The headquarters they were situated in were said to be the mansion of a wealthy German man and his family, but they'd all been murdered because of their failure to comply with Nazi laws. It was even rumored that the man had sheltered Jews here.

The halls had been stripped of their grandeur; Lyddie imagined silken tapestries, thick carpeting, and vases full of flowers. She saw great wooden chests and thick-pillowed couches, beautiful paintings and golden chandeliers.

But now, gazing at her surroundings, all her eyes took in were a dusty wooden floor, cracking windows, and gray walls. The corridor was empty.

One of her acquaintances, a captive girl named Ella, smiled at her through the bars of her cell as she passed. "At least you're getting out, Lydia," she whispered with a smile. Lyddie's heart went out to her friend.

For a girl of fifteen, Lyddie was extremely mature for her age. The Nazis had forced her to be. They had killed her mother and father in front of her, poured their blood out onto the streets while Germans cheered. All because of their greed—their lust for power and treasure. Images of her parents' bodies falling to the ground with a hole in each of their heads flashed before Lyddie's eyes.

Lyddie had promised herself—and her parents—that she would never tell the family secret to anyone. She would take her knowledge to the grave, she'd said.

The girl cursed herself. _That's what this is all about. Why couldn't I have been born to a _normal_ family?_

The two soldiers tightened their gloved grip on the fifteen-year-old's arms. Lyddie flipped a lock of chestnut brown hair over her shoulder, choosing not to struggle. Her crystal blue eyes locked onto the red band they wore on their left arms; the hate swelled and rose to a searing throb in her chest.

They came to the main office. The four sentries posted at the entrance clicked their heels and allowed them to pass, bowing their heads in mechanical respect. Lyddie tried to suppress her distasting frown. They were dolls, brainwashed puppets. The girl despised them all the more.

The soldiers' grips loosened when they entered the room, and they threw her to the floor in front of a giant mahogany desk. She landed on a shoulder, unable to balance because her hands were bound behind her back. The coarse rope was cutting into her skin and making her bleed, staining the rope scarlet.

The colonel behind the desk rose, smiling faintly. "Welcome, Miss Marques."

Lyddie glared up at him, cringing slightly under his blue-green stare from where she was positioned on her knees.

The colonel's close-cropped gray hair glistened underneath his wide brimmed headpiece, shiny and slicked-back. The medals gleamed proudly from his right breast pocket, and Lyddie could sense the mockery. His voice was edged with a demanding German accent, touched with iron and malice.

Lyddie said nothing right away, but after a moment she gathered herself, swallowing the knob in her throat first. "You should release me, Velheim. You know I'll never tell you anything."

"Negotiating will get you nothing," Colonel Velheim spat back in instant defense. "We have offered on many occasions to set you free in exchange for information, but you are obstinate."

"Runs in the family, I guess." Lyddie balled her fists, thinking of her slain relatives. "You have murdered everyone I loved… just so you could become one step closer to a treasure you shouldn't mess with."

"Your parents died for such arrogance. It would be tragic for us if we had to execute you." The colonel tugged on the black leather glove on his right hand.

"I would rather die as an American," Lyddie forced through her teeth, her eyes focusing on the floor, "than as a Nazi turncoat."

The colonel chuckled, meandering around his desk. He seemed to be studying the carving in the wooden veneer, tracing the engraved flower petals with a finger. But then he suddenly clenched his hands, whirled, and kicked the girl violently in the stomach. She doubled over in pain with hardly a muffled cry. The man stooped and wiped a fleck of saliva from his boot.

"I hate having to injure you, Miss Marques."

"Probably just because you don't like getting dirty," the girl sputtered back, feeling stinging blood trickle down on the inside of her cheek. She had bitten it in her haste to stifle a shriek. "I know how you hate blood."

Velheim clicked his tongue. "Miss Marques," the tall colonel murmured, shaking his head with an overconfident smile. He kneeled next to her, and she glowered at him through her messed hair. "You will find that when it comes to getting things we want… we are very good at it."

"I suppose you got that line from your Führer," Lyddie grumbled, looking away.

Velheim licked his lips, emitting a short chuckle. "Just stating the truth, madam."

Lyddie straightened and took a deep breath. "Truth," she debated, her glare returning to the colonel, "is something totally different when dealing with _Nazis_." Venom tingled on the last word, and she leaned forward into Velheim's face. "I will never tell you anything. I am not a steppingstone on your path to world conquest."

Velheim continued to smile, but there was definitely a forced air in that smile. Standing, he yelled something to his men in German, turning to perch on the edge of his desk. In the next second Lyddie found herself being yanked to her feet, the pistol of a gun thrust into her neck. "Enough is enough!" the colonel cried angrily. "Where is the amulet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lyddie replied. The gun was driven farther into her neck, cutting the air supply off from her throat. She struggled, choking.

"Stop playing games!" Velheim drew nearer and slapped her across the face. "Where is the temple, then? Where is it kept?" His voice rose to an infuriated roar. "You will tell us!"

Lyddie felt a hot tear on her cheek, and she was sure there must be a handprint where he had struck her. "If you kill me," the girl reasoned shakily, "I will be able to tell you nothing."

The colonel growled low in his throat, his cold stare burning into her. He motioned for his guards to take the girl away.

Thanks for reading, please review!


	3. The Adventure Begins

**DISCLAIMER:**  I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  Here's the third chapter!  Things start to happen that bring the Joneses into the story… :)  Please enjoy!

Chapter 3

Alessa Harding's eyes fluttered as the sun spilled through the window of her hotel room, splashing color on the clothing-strewn floor and across her twin bed's comforter. She sat up and leaned back on her elbows, taking in her room in a glance that swept over an unlocked suitcase, the open bathroom door, a bag of dirty clothes, and a trunk whose surface had been converted into a tabletop. The room was in a general state of disaster—when she'd arrived she'd simply tossed her clothes into a drawer and dumped her toiletries onto the bathroom counter.

Sliding off the bed and onto the carpeted floor, the slender woman knelt to pick up a sock. A lock of golden hair fell from behind her ear as she straightened to look out the window to the awakening city. She fingered the see-through drapery thoughtfully and then pulled the curtains aside.

Making her way to the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up, she donned her negligee and flipped her curls over a shoulder. Humming absentmindedly, she smoothed the nightgown underneath her robe. 

She emerged from the bathroom with her hair combed and twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, the robe trailing behind with its tie hanging loose. She moved to make the bed.

Alessa was an American teacher who had traveled to Europe to study the culture. She had already been to Spain, Austria, and Italy; all that remained on her list were Greece and Russia. She would go back to the states when the trip was over, although she didn't want to—in part this was a vacation and not really schoolwork. She intended to take three countries from her travels and give cultural courses when she found work at a school. Having arrived in Greece two days earlier, she planned to wander around and be a tourist, with no specific plan in mind. 

But the best part of her trip was that, somewhere along the way, she had found the man of her dreams. Alessa smiled faintly, thinking of the occupant in the room next to hers, and suddenly heard the sharp, angry voice of a young man that rose and carried through the walls. Alessa stopped, holding a pillow in mid-fluff. 

"I don't need to negotiate, I just want my father! What? Listen, neither of us is going to Berlin. Yes, I'm sure Hitler's smart enough to find it himself. Okay, put him on." 

Still holding the pillow under her arm, the teacher went to the door and shoved it ajar. She saw the man pacing a cleared section of the floor around the bed, stopping where trunks and backpacks halted the carpet's border. Alessa saw that he was in his cobalt-tinted bathrobe, with his hair still tousled from sleep. He was mumbling something and shaking his head, his eyes full of worry and doubt. 

This room was almost identical to Alessa's, with the floor space invaded by bags and cases, papers littering the desk and filling the wastebasket. Alessa's boyfriend was also a teacher—a professor at a college, actually—and he had probably figured that he could get some reports written and tests graded in his spare time, even though he'd barely had time to unpack the papers during the trip.

Alessa pushed the door all the way open and walked into the room, an inquiring look on her face. She clutched her silken robe about her tightly as she observed the man's nervous behavior. He threw a forced smile in her direction just as another voice came clearly through the receiver. Relief flooded the young man's face, and he let out his breath.

"Dad? Dad, listen, where are you? Just tell me, now, so I can come get you. What? Dad, no, no! Wait! Tell them to wait!"

Alessa heard the click on the other end that meant the conversation was over. 

Indiana Jones sat down in a chair wearily, pressing the heel of a hand to his forehead. "Well, I don't know how, but Dad's managed to get himself in more trouble."

Alessa smiled, one eyebrow raised. "A Jones, getting into trouble? I thought that was impossible." 

Indiana stood, pointing a cautionary finger at her. "Hey. Be nice."

The woman smiled up at the archaeologist. Indiana was a handsome young man in his twenties, with light brown hair and a lopsided grin. Alessa had heard of his stories about facing countless Nazis, crazy priests, and women spies… not to mention several other dangers. She didn't know how she had happened to stay in his company for over a week. 

She ran her fingers through her blonde curls. "What's going on?"

Indiana had begun to comb his hair. "Dad's being held prisoner by a few Nazis in the local library. Nothing I can't handle," he added with a sure smile, setting down the brush. 

Alessa, alarmed, found her mouth dropping to the floor. "Nazis? You're joking, right?"

The doctor shook his head and shrugged. "No." He grabbed a pair of brown pants, a khaki-colored shirt, his leather jacket, and his russet, felt fedora and headed for the bathroom. 

"Indy!" Alessa stood, a shocked look on her face. "I don't want you going into the middle of a Nazi troop! Don't you think we should call the police?" 

There was no answer. Indiana tossed his robe through the door into the oncoming Alessa's arms, throwing her back a step. She flung the robe down angrily, unable to muffle a puppy-like whimper. "Indy, I thought you were through with adventures!"

"Listen, honey," Indiana said comfortingly, emerging from the bathroom in full attire, "this isn't anything I haven't handled before." He slung his favorite bag over a shoulder and buckled his holster over his belt. Rummaging in his suitcase, he pulled out a long-barreled gun and his bullwhip. He checked the firearm to make sure it was loaded.

The woman watched wide-eyed as Indiana hooked the whip onto his belt and slid the revolver into its holster. "Indy! You're going to get yourself killed!"

Indiana looked up and offered her a charming smile. "I haven't died yet."

"Can't we talk about this?"

"We already have." 

He moved though the door, brushing his lips across Alessa's forehead before leaving. The woman watched him go, a fire burning in her green eyes as she crossed her arms defiantly and leaned back on the bed. "Yeah, well you can be sure we will when you get back, Indiana Jones." 

Hope you like it so far—please review! 


	4. The Library

**DISCLAIMER:**  I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  And… the story begins.  Indiana goes to rescue his father from the clutches of the Nazis!

Chapter 4

Indiana Jones crouched low behind a collapsing statue, watching the two Nazi guards in front of the library. They didn't seem too worried; they rested on the parked jeep nearby and looked to be deep in discussion. Their guns were lying on the jeep's hood, far from their reach. Indy wasn't very concerned about them, and he knew they would give him no trouble. 

The archaeologist then gazed up at the library. It was aged and dreary, the stairs leading to the foyer beginning to crack and grow moss. Its gloomy appearance was emphasized by the slowly clouding sky and cool temperature. Indiana had left at about ten o'clock in the morning but had taken several hours to locate the library. The weather seemed to mock him, and it reflected his mood in the somber sky.

Indiana spotted a side door at the east base of the flight of steps, smiling triumphantly. He started to creep through the overgrown garden he was hiding in, making his way to the smaller entrance. The rain began to drizzle down just as he reached the door, so he pulled his fedora over his eyes. He turned the tarnished brass doorknob and slipped into the library unnoticed.

He arrived in a pitch-black storage room of some sort and had to scramble over crates and boxes to a line of light that indicated a doorway. Thrusting the door open slightly and sliding through the opening, he hoped no one had heard it creak on its corroded hinges. 

The library was dark, darker than he'd expected it to be. A hanging lamp above him flickered uncertainly, wavering weakly on its long chain. The whole building was silent, and that was anticipated, but dread layered itself over the silence in a revealing sheet.

Indiana squatted, rocking on his toes. He waddled over behind a tall set of shelves and peered over the first ledge of books, the aged smell of rotting paper filling his nostrils. He saw nothing, so he switched his balance from the balls of his feet to his knees, crawling down the lightless row. When he reached the end, he slowly raised his head so he could see. 

A faint light glowed above a circular, weatherworn table, which was littered with unevenly stacked books and papers. And nearby sat a familiar briefcase and umbrella, tipped over in an unknown struggle. Indiana recognized his father's renowned equipment immediately.

A dark shadow on the floor shifted nearby, causing the silhouette to fall across Indiana's shoulders. He leaned forward, adjusting his viewpoint, and found his father at last.

He was sitting in a chair with his hands on the top of his hairless forehead, and by the look on his bearded face Indy could tell he'd held them that way for quite some time. His thin lips were pulled down into a weary grimace, and his eyes shone with only a trace of hope. His glasses hung on the tip of his nose, and Indiana saw with an amused grin that they were bothering his father and needed to be pushed up. Standing tiredly and without interest, three soldiers were aiming their guns at his stomach. They leaned on the bookcases and the table, holding their weapons loosely. But their backs were turned, and they were talking quietly among themselves, which was good for Indiana. 

Henry Jones's gaze strayed to the Nazi commander, and for a moment Indy saw the hope burn true in his father's dark eyes. Then the man scanned the area for any sign of his son, first looking to the scaffolding in the ceiling, then going over the bookshelves. Indiana waved, catching the light with his hand. Henry's face lit up with a slight half-smile, and he peered harder at the space he was sure he'd seen his rescuer. The younger doctor moved his face into the light, and exaggeratedly mouthed the word _Wait_. He made the motion of shooting a gun and continued, _Then run, fast._ Henry nodded once, very vaguely and slowly, to show that he would comply. 

Indiana retreated back into the shadows and leaned back onto the bookshelf. The whole structure tilted underneath his weight, and the doctor immediately retracted and looked up and behind him. An idea fluttered into his head, and he smiled at the notion. _I wonder…_ he thought, briefly touching the scar on his chin. 

He stood slowly, catching a glimpse of his father's perplexed expression as he passed. He delicately planted a foot on the bottom ledge, then leaned in and put his weight on it. He held his breath. The shelf sustained him, so he continued to climb up the bookcase, little by little. He was shocked that the soldiers could not hear the racket he was making with the groaning case, but at any rate he made it to the top.

Indiana unhooked his whip and lashed it onto a beam overhead, hoping that the molding timberwould support his weight as well. He planted his feet on the top of the shelf and pushed hard on it once, causing the construction to lean back and forth. This knocked nearly all the books out of place, and they came crashing to the floor. 

The three soldiers turned and looked up at the towering case that still rocked as if shaken by an invisible breath. The one who was obviously the head soldier gave a younger one a shove toward the bookcase. The youth, confused, turned back to his peer and shrugged fearfully, not knowing what the commander expected him to do.

Indiana gave the bookcase another hard shove, and it came moaning down on top of the soldier, crushing him underneath its impenetrable weight. His scream was flattened as the woodwork smashed into the floor, throwing up clouds of dusty powder.

When the only remaining two turned back to the chair where Henry Jones had been sitting, the prisoner was gone. 

Indiana Jones jumped from the scaffolding in the ceiling, surprising the Nazis. One of them misfired his gun and shot out a lamp that flickered one time and abruptly died. Henry, in the meantime, crawled out from underneath the table and hurriedly stuffed a few books into his bag, wincing while shattered glass fell around him. He quickly placed his hat on his head, having to readjust it as it tipped to the side and covered an eye.

Indy yanked the rifle from the soldier's hands and hit him between the eyes with the butt of it, finding out in dismay that there were no more shots left. He stabbed the barrel into the soldier's stomach, making him double over so Indy could offer him a carefully placed punch to the jaw. The Nazi fell over, unconscious. 

Henry was still putting on his jacket and gathering up his belongings. Noticing that his watch was gone—the one that his father had given him, the one with the gold chain—he felt over his coat pockets and began to search the table, throwing papers aside and lifting books to peek beneath. 

Indy tossed the gun aside and reached for his unraveled whip, twisting it around the last Nazi's throat. He jerked it twice to tighten its grip, and the soldier's face turned blue. The German fell to his knees and groped for his own gun, unsteadily aiming it at Indiana once pulled out. But the archaeologist pinned the Nazi's hand underneath his foot, knocking the firearm away as a shot went wide. Indiana tugged the whip even firmer. The man's tongue lolled out, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and a last breath left him.

By now Henry was through and was watching his son finish up disinterestedly. He leaned with an elbow on his suitcase, cupping his chin in one hand. He scratched at his salt-and-pepper colored beard. "What kept you?" he asked in his deep, evenly sprinkled British-American intonation. 

Indiana looked up at his father, his sharp eyes intense. Sweat clung to his face and neck, dampening his shirt and jacket. He unwound his whip from the lifeless Nazi's throat, trying to catch his breath. "Don't start with me, Dad," he warned between gulps of air. "Just say, 'thanks, Indy,' and we'll call it even."

Henry Jones ignored his son. He motioned to the chair he'd been positioned in. "Do you know how long I've been waiting, holding my hands above my head like that? They wouldn't let me move."

The younger Jones swallowed, rotating to look at the older man. "Do you know how long it took me to find you? This isn't the only library in town, Dad."

"In any case, you took long enough, longer than necessary." Henry looked over his gold-rimmed glasses sternly. "But I am sorry that you had to take the time away from Alessa," he added shrewdly, turning away and buttoning his case after dropping in a stack of papers. 

Indiana was stunned, angry that his father would say such a thing. His mouth opened as he was about to offer some sly, irate comment of his own. He was going to tell his father that he wasn't being fair, that he shouldn't bring his girlfriend into this, but at the front of the library the large wooden doors banged open. A German voice called out, sounding worried and confused.

 Indiana looked in the incoming soldiers' direction, then back at his father. He rushed forward, grabbing Henry by the sleeve. "Come on, Dad. They heard the shots."

Henry stared at the disorder the skirmish had created. Glass fragments covered the floor under a broken lamp, and furniture, books, and papers were scattered everywhere. "Don't you think we should clean this up first?"

But it was Indy's turn to ignore the man behind him, and the archaeologist continued to pull his father through the library, his gun withdrawn. In their current position, Henry walked backwards, held by the arm of his jacket. Indiana moved agilely, the revolver pointed at anything in front of them. The older doctor stumbled through the debris that Indiana had left of the bookcase, and he looked around in disapproving astonishment. "Junior, I can't believe the mess you made. These shelves are probably antiques—Junior!"

Indiana did not have time to complain about his father calling him _that_ name. Behind them, the two remaining soldiers found their associates' bodies amid the wreckage and were already reporting.

"Where are we going, Indiana?"

Indiana opened the door he had entered by and shoved his father through. Henry fell over something inside and knocked several things over, his audible yelp echoing off the thick door. From inside, Indy heard his father mumble, "This is intolerable." 

The young doctor slipped halfway through the door and looked around once more. He swallowed with reservation. "We're going back to the hotel to pack," Indy answered gravely. "We've got to get out of Athens." 

Thanks for reading; please review!


	5. Dr. Jones' Research

**DISCLAIMER:**  I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Thanks for getting this far!  In this chapter, Indiana finds out why his father was in the library, and why his research was so valuable to the Nazis.

Chapter 5

"Dad, I thought you said you were just going to go read a few books."

Indiana Jones rubbed some salve on his father's forehead. The elder man hissed, the ointment burning his small wound. The young doctor continued, "How many times am I going to have to rescue you?"

But Henry Jones was indignant. "First you tell me one thing, Junior," he countered in his low, gruff voice, "when have I ever asked to be rescued?"

"Dad, if I've told you before…" Indiana took this opportunity to express his distaste for the label _Junior_. He dabbed more medicine onto the other man's brow. "I'm sick and tired of—"

"I'll call you what I want. You're my son. Now for God's sake, Indiana, leave me alone! I'm fine!" Henry pushed his son's hand away, setting his jaw boldly.

Indiana smiled at his father's stubbornness. He turned away, discarding the cotton swab he'd been using and returning the jar of ointment to the medicine kit. "I don't see how _you_ managed to hurt yourself while I was doing all the fighting."

Henry sat up and swung his legs out, blushing a little. "I sort of… ah… bashed my head on the table when I dove underneath." He leaned back onto the pillows his son had placed on the long, auburn-tinted couch and shrugged nonchalantly. "But if you're worried, I'm fine."

Indiana, with his back turned, raised his eyebrows with a sardonic grin and thought, _No, I wasn't worried at all—you wouldn't have let me be._

Immediately after leaving the library, Indiana had lugged his father and girlfriend into another inn, as far away as possible from where they had previously been staying. Everyone was already packed for the trip back to neutral ground. Their train left in the morning for Switzerland, where they could do some thinking and escape the meddling agents of Hitler. These quarters looked surprisingly clean compared to the appearance of the other rooms, with the floor cleared and tabletops swept free of trash.

The golden-haired Alessa appeared at the sitting room's doorway. "Do you two need anything before I go to bed?"

The men looked up. Henry, in the process of pushing up the crisp linen sleeves of his shirt, rolled his jaw around in a testing circle before showing the woman a smile. "I think we can manage."

Indiana's girlfriend swished into the room and fell into a seat beside the archaeologist. Rubbing one of his shoulders with a long-fingered hand, she consoled, "You need to get some sleep. It's been a long day."

"Yes, well," Henry interposed blandly, "at least he didn't have to sit for hours on a particularly hard chair under three machine guns."

Alessa tried hard not to roll her eyes as she fixed a smiling kiss on Indiana's unshaven cheek. "Good night, Indy."

"Sweet dreams, hon," Indiana replied with a grin that lingered far after the woman had slipped into her room and shut the door securely behind her. 

"It's sickening," Henry muttered with a shake of his head, proceeding to turn up the other sleeve.

His son settled into the cushions of an armchair positioned next to the couch and propped up his feet. "Shall we talk, Dad?" he implored.

Henry's graying beard shone in the lamplight, and his thin lips upturned in a slight smile. "I suppose you want to know what I was looking for." He fingered the rim of his dark, plaid hat uncomfortably. "Well, I was in the library, minding my own business, when these men—"

Indiana interrupted him. "Wait a second, Dad. What were you researching? Start at the beginning."

The doctor opened his mouth, and then stopped. "Well," he said slowly, "It's a long story. Care to hear all of it?"

Indiana grinned easily, flashing his set of perfect white teeth. "I'm not going anywhere."

"All right," Henry agreed. Settling back into the down-filled pillows, he took a long drink from a glass filled with cold water. "Twelve years after Christ was born to Mary, they went on their yearly trip into Jerusalem. He disappeared from Mary and Joseph's company. They searched for three days before finding Him in a temple; He was asking the priests questions and listening to their teachings. One priest gave a holy pendant to the Son as a gift in exchange for His insightful view of the Father."

"I think I know what you're talking about." Indiana touched his chin, tilting his head in his effort to remember the story. "The pendant is said to contain the power of God. It was kind of like a smaller version of the Ark. He gave the pendant to a messenger, supposedly. This herald flourished and became rich in the time he owned it. No thief dared to enter his household."

"Exactly." Henry jabbed a finger in his son's direction. "The Nazis have, unfortunately, heard the legends and consider the medallion priceless. I was researching it in the library—and I promise you, Junior—I was just curious. This will not turn into a life-long search like my hunt for the Holy Grail."

"Yeah," Indy recalled, "I know what trouble that got us into. What do the Nazis want with it?" 

"I told you—its power. If they get a hold of it, the world as we know it is at its end." Henry pulled his tie out from under the lapel, twisting the black fabric around a finger. "So you understand my sudden curiosity."

Indiana frowned. "What did the Nazis want with you?"

"They obviously recognized me and wanted to know if I knew anything about the pendant." Henry smiled, a bit sheepishly. "I told them to, ah… read a Bible." A shoulder bobbed as he shrugged again. "After that, they called you, you rescued, and so on." Henry scratched his ear, folding his jacket over one knee. He made it all seem extremely trivial; that's the way Indiana's father was.

The archaeologist rubbed his temples, groaning. "Why doesn't Hitler just give up?" he murmured in complaint. In recent adventures the Nazis had gone after everything from the Ark of the Covenant to the dirt Jesus had stepped on. Hitler was obsessed with religious artifacts and the authority they offered, so for the last few years Indy had been kept very busy. 

Henry lugged his case up from the floor and undid the buckles. "These are the books I picked out. So far I've only got enough information to tell us legends and old stories about the medallion—"

But Indiana was already shaking his head. "Dad, no. This is our vacation, and you wouldn't want to go through another episode, would you? Not after last time. Plus I've got to get back to the college by next week." The archaeologist remembered, during the last trip he and his father had taken together, when Henry had been shot and almost killed. He had made up his mind never to put his father in that sort of danger again.

The other man seemed not to hear. "Son, how many times do we have to go through this? When Nazis are involved, we must take action. We carry the weight of humanity on our shoulders."

"And the Joneses rush to the rescue…" Indiana said unenthusiastically, mimicking a commentator at a ballgame. 

If the older doctor noticed his son's sarcasm, he didn't show it. "That's the spirit, Junior. Now," he leaned over, opening a weather-beaten book with a ragged leather cover, "this book chronicles the years of Jesus's life. It doesn't focus much on His pendant, but it's a start."

Reluctantly, Indiana put his glasses on.

"_And as the Son of Lamb continued over the continent into Galilee_," Indiana read aloud, "_He found comfort in His amulet. Before the Lord was betrayed by Judas, He gave His medallion to a messenger, saying unto him, 'You must find a man named Saul. You will meet him after my resurrection, a man who has just undergone a great change. Your eyes will know him_."

"Keep reading, Junior."

Indiana mumbled something in frustration, glancing over at his anticipant father, but continued to read. 

"_When Saul died, he passed the medallion on to another man called Macktah, son of Horubeth. In the one hundred and sixteen years Macktah lived, his family was happy. Finally, the medallion came to rest in the hands of a well-known prophet, famous for his firmness in keeping the Lord's word sacred. He had a family of twenty-one, and his brother's was twice as large. They kept the Holy Medallion inside their family unit, and prospered_."

"A clan, son. They swore to protect the pendant and have been doing so for the last thousand years." Henry smiled in smug satisfaction, practically trembling with excitement. 

"Do we have a name anywhere?" Indiana flipped through the parched pages.

"No names," his father sighed. "But I do have some information." Henry bent forward secretively, tugging on his rolled-up sleeves. "I heard the Nazis talking about another prisoner. They were reporting to their captain, I believe."

"Who was it, Dad?"

"Junior, I don't remember!" Henry replied irritably, running a hand over his bare head. "I just know that it's a girl being held in Berlin. She's apparently the last member of the family who was guarding the medallion." 

Indiana's eyes clouded over with concern. Nazis always meant trouble, but sometimes they surprised him. How cruel would you have to be to keep a child prisoner?

Henry noticed his son's unease. He reached out and patted his knee. "It startled me, too. Obviously, the Germans will do anything for world conquest… but, by God, they'll be stopped." He stood and picked up his battered suitcase and umbrella, heading for the bedchambers. "Go on to bed, son. You need some rest."

Indiana looked up, surprised. A spark of suspicion flickered in his eyes. "What for? We're going to Bern tomorrow. Our vacation isn't over yet."

Henry turned, raising his dark eyebrows as if it were obvious. "And then on to Berlin. You can't rescue people if you're sleepwalking at the same time."

Indy stood, nearly knocking his chair to the ground. His smile was incredulous, open-mouthed; he was unable to believe what his father was suggesting. "Dad, I'm not fighting any more Nazis. I just did it today to save _your_ life. That's enough for this trip." 

Henry straightened. "Listen to me, Junior. I heard the Nazis say that if you didn't show up, the project would be rejected and then the girl would be put to death. She is our only key to the medallion. How do you expect us to find it if our single lead is killed?"

"Is that all you think of her as?" Indiana flamed. "Just a _lead_?"

The other man puffed up slightly. "Well…"

"Besides, why would they do that?" Indy pushed on, dubiously. 

"To make sure you and I wouldn't get our hands on her. To make sure no one else would find the medallion." Henry rocked on his heels and took a breath. "The Nazis are very greedy people, you know. If they can't have something, they think no one else should either. Understand? Or do I need to give more reasons?"

The younger man swallowed, averting his gaze. "Dad, we can't. There'll be thousands of Nazis there, too many for us to handle—"

"Junior." Henry's voice was stern.

"Dad," Indiana replied in the same tone, making it sound like a two-syllable word. He shook his head. "No."

"I've called Sallah," the older doctor continued, ignorant of his son's refusal. "He'll meet us in Bern tomorrow evening, and you and I will go and rescue the girl the next day. Sallah can stay with Alessa in Bern." Henry pursed his lips, waiting for his son to disagree. He crossed his tanned arms. 

"You make it sound easy," Indiana murmured, rubbing an eye.

Henry smiled victoriously, proudly looking at the young man. "With you, it will be." He put a hand down and squeezed his son's shoulder. When the hand came back up, it fingered the brim of his hat. Henry's eyes suddenly turned distinctly gloomy, and his grin vanished. "If only Marcus were here to share the adventures," he said with pain in his voice, looking down. 

Marcus Brody had traveled with Indiana and Henry to find the Holy Grail, but his death was hard to handle, even though a year had passed. Indiana had worked with him several times at the college he taught at, and Marcus frequently dropped by the archaeologist's classroom to listen to him lecture. He had been a faithful friend of the Joneses for years. 

"May God rest his soul." Henry sighed wearily and massaged the back of his neck, looking more haggard than Indy had seen him for a long time. He turned to continue in the direction of his room, his jacket draped over an arm. "Goodnight, Indiana."

Indiana Jones collapsed into a chair, defeat embedded in his features. "'Night, Dad."


	6. Velheim's Decision

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks very much to those who have reviewed! In this chapter, we get to see how truly evil Velheim is…

**Chapter 6 **

Colonel Hedrick Velheim stormed through the halls of the headquarters angrily that night, clad still in his crisp uniform and polished, knee-high boots. He had removed his cap and carried it under an arm, letting the other limb hang with a fist clenched at the end. The soles of his feet slapped the ground with every stride, making echoing claps reverberate through the hall. Another soldier was sticking to his shoulder, trying hastily to explain the source of Velheim's anger. His hands gestured violently, his eyes large with dread.

Four other guards flanked the pair at both sides, marching with their gun barrels resting on a shoulder, the opposite limb swinging in time to the beat of Velheim's footfalls. They listened with their eyes staring straight ahead, and, although silent, all of them knew what was coming.

Outside, the last of a cherry stain on the horizon faded under the skyline of Berlin, and yellow streetlights flickered to life. Stars began to dot the blue-black atmosphere, and the quarter moon shone like a Cyclops's watchful eye. Guards around the perimeter of the headquarters took place, marching in significant circles.

Finally, after tolerating the soldier's blubbering explanation for about a minute, Velheim turned on the man and held up a hand unsympathetically. The colonel was not very tall—he was shorter, even, than some of his soldiers—but he had a hard, rigid face stressed by lines around his piercing blue eyes. "Stop. You're saying that you have lost Dr. Jones?"

"Colonel!" the attaché stuttered, his face paling. "We—our—" He gulped, panicked. His black hair stuck out oddly from under his cap, and his hazel eyes flashed images of what might happen to him if he displeased his commander.

"For heaven's sake," Velheim ordered, wincing slightly with irritation in his voice, "stop stammering!"

The soldier straightened obediently and took a quick breath. "We held Professor Jones in the library all morning. I was outside with Captain Hansen, guarding the entrance. We heard gunshots and found the other three members of our troop murdered. Dr. Jones was gone."

"Was there any evidence of another's presence during the escape?" Velheim's eyes narrowed at this prospect, and everything was clear to him as he suddenly realized what had happened.

"No, Herr Colonel," the young soldier answered, unheeding of the clarity that sparked on Velheim's face. "Dr. Jones's bag and books were gone when we arrived."

"Were there… side doors?" the colonel asked slowly, his eyes still thin, blue slits.

The soldier's faded countenance paled to an even whiter color, and he did not answer. "We—we watched—no one could have—"

Velheim turned from the soldier, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. He walked a few steps, thinking that there would never be a stupider man on earth than the individual behind him. The anger built in him so that he could not contain it any longer. He threw down his hand and slammed it onto a table positioned against the wall. "You idiot!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, startling everyone occupying the hallway. He whirled back to pierce the man with his gaze. "Dr. Jones has a _son_! Weren't you keeping an eye out for him?"

The youth's lower lip trembled as he started to stutter again. "Y-yes, Herr Colonel! That's who we were waiting for, sir! We knew you wanted us to return to Berlin with b-both the Joneses!"

"Yes, but even so Indiana Jones managed to sneak in right under your noses, kill three members of your troop, and escape with his father. It was five against one, you brainless idiot!" Velheim paced like mad during the extent of his speech, counting the felonies off with his fingers.

The insult smacked the soldier in the face; his eyes went wide, and he drew a step back. His nightmares were coming true.

Velheim stopped his pacing and faced the man furiously. Then, as the soldier watched with horrified eyes, Velheim waved another soldier over to his side and murmured fatal words in his ear, gesturing to the young man. The gunman let the rifle slide from his shoulder.

Velheim left the room in a huff, the soldier yelling and pleading after him. A second later, the cries were silenced by a single blast of a gunshot that echoed through the entire wing of the manor.

The colonel retreated to his quarters and poured himself a rather large glass of wine, the ruby liquid relaxing him as soon as he saw it. With the long-stemmed glass in hand, he fell heavily into a beige, deeply cushioned recliner and propped his feet up on the varnished rosewood coffee table near his desk. Above him, the crystal chandelier shook ever so slightly on its silver decorated link.

The colonel lit a cigar and shook the match's flame out, watching the smoke curl up from the tip like a writhing snake. He crossed his arms, the fat brown cigar held between two fingers.

He stared at a painted portrait of himself on the opposite wall; it showed him with a riding crop tucked neatly in his left underarm and an extremely noble look on his face. The other limb was outstretched with the fingers of his hand spread, as if he were greeting another German leader or perhaps giving orders to his troops. His left foot rested atop an American soldier's helmet, one that looked like it had been blown right off the combatant's head. He leaned on the slightly upraised knee with the arm holding the crop, his blue eyes looking to a distant, unknown battle.

"Toby," the colonel called in a mumble, rolling the cigar between his fingers. He stared at the cinders beginning to crumble off at the end, and after a second tapped them into an ashtray.

At once, a petite blonde-haired boy appeared from behind a thick curtain leading into rooms that were part of a small servant's quarters. Toby stood awkwardly next to the red drapery, hunched over as though he was still asleep. "Yes, Herr Colonel?" he asked automatically.

Velheim, with his back turned, barely glanced over his shoulder at the child. "Bring Lydia Marques to me."

Toby yawned, but quickly caught himself. "As ordered, Herr Colonel."

The man took off his hat and brushed a hand over his gray hair. It was heavy in his hand, and the colonel smiled proudly. Running a finger across the gold-plated eagle and swastika above the hat's bill, he placed it on the coffee table and began to pull off his gloves.

A guard appeared, bowing stiffly and clicking his heels. "The prisoner, sir," he explained. The colonel shifted to look back at them, seeing the brown-haired teenager appear at the guard's side.

Velheim nodded once. "Ja, bitte. Yes, thank you." He waved a hand. "Leave us." The soldier turned and exited the room, leaving the girl standing there with her hands tied in the front at her waist. "Please, Miss Marques. Sit down. A drink?"

His sudden politeness startled her, but did not bring down her iron ramparts. "No thank you." Her words sounded bitten off, coarse with anger. She sat down slowly on the couch opposite Velheim, her eyes wary and cautious. She glanced down at the colonel's hat on the table, and for a moment looked like she would rush forward and shred it to pieces. She began to idly rub two fingers together, appearing uncomfortable and out of place.

"I don't suppose you've heard of a man called Indiana Jones?" Velheim asked suddenly. He raised the wine glass to his lips and took a drink.

Lyddie glanced up, her eyes showing her remoteness. "No," she said curtly.

"He is one of the most famous archaeologists in the world," Velheim continued, unaware of Lyddie's disinterest. "We held his father today in Athens."

"How nice," the girl replied sarcastically. "He got away, I suppose." She diverted her gaze, looking at the splendor about her instead. Her eyes fell on the portrait, and Velheim watched her stifle a laugh.

The colonel licked his upper lip briefly, smiling. "Yes, Professor Jones escaped. That's not good, mind you. It doesn't help your situation at all."

Lyddie's head snapped back around so she could narrow her eyes skeptically at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Professor Jones and his son would have been members of the expedition team." Velheim leaned forward with a grunt, setting the wine glass on the table next to his feet. "They would have helped us find the amulet, but now that they have escaped we have decided to abandon the project. We know _you_ won't be of any use."

Lyddie said nothing. She knew that this was either good or bad, but she expected it to be the latter. She waited, swallowing with an uneasy grimace.

Velheim snuffled. "Therefore my only choice is an execution. The Joneses would surely go after you if you were released."

Lyddie swallowed again, biting her lip. She had seen it coming, but to hear the words spoken made her stomach slip to her legs. The tears came hot and burning to her eyes, but she blinked them back. Stillness loomed like a thick, intimidating curtain in the air, until the colonel broke it.

"Captain!" Velheim called to the man who had brought Lyddie in. An amused smile played across his lips as Lyddie stared at him, the tears evident. Inhaling deeply, the girl stood and joined the captain.

"Have a good night, Miss Marques," Velheim called over his shoulder as they left. The colonel let a silent beat pass, listening to the door slam behind the twosome. He then laughed good-naturedly and finished off his wine.


	7. An Escape

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you very much for following along this far. In the last chapter, Velheim sentenced Lydia Marques to death. What happens next is found below for you to read…

**Chapter 7**

Lyddie emerged from the back of a truck the next morning with her eyes red and tear-stained from a sleepless night of crying. The blue jewels had lost their energetic fire and were now pools of misery and bereavement, staring expressionlessly. Her shoulders and legs ached, her eyes burned, and her head pounded. Even the insides of her stomach felt beaten.

She yelped as a following soldier pushed her out into the blazing sunlight among a cheering mob of people. She stumbled down the truck's ramp and tripped in the dirt, clouds of dust stirring and hanging in the air. Her already stained, light blue button-up shirt was further soiled by the filth. The gravel scratched her arms where the sleeves had been rolled up to make binding her hands easier. The crowd hooted, and the soldier laughed and pointed, "Idiotisch Amerikaner!"

Hedrick Velheim appeared in his dowdy gray uniform, leather crop in hand. He smirked down at Lyddie briefly. "Did you sleep well?" he asked. Lyddie only coughed the dust out of her mouth, trying to get up. He smiled broadly and called out to his troops. "Let us begin!"

Immediately Lyddie was jerked to her feet and thrown forward to trample behind a proud-looking Velheim, who waved to the crowd and beamed charmingly. Six soldiers followed at the rear, marching dutifully with empty eyes.

The square was crowded and ear-splittingly loud, with the Nazi flag flying from every balcony and mast. It flapped and rippled in the dim breeze, arrogantly showing off its threadwork. The sky above was cheerful and cloudless, the sun gleaming down with brilliant radiance.

_Ironic that my first day out in weeks will also be my last_, Lyddie thought with a stinging heart.

At the center of the plaza, a large timber platform with a stake mounted at the midpoint loomed uninvitingly. Although it had not been used many times, several pale, crimson stains in the wood still lingered. As Lyddie trudged up the stairs, a shiver caused her shoulders to quake. Her hollow footsteps resonated within her skull, compounding her headache.

Velheim proceeded to the side and went up to stand on another, smaller-sized platform. He greeted a wiry young soldier who leaned on his rifle as if this were just another day at work. They both threw up a hand in customary greeting.

A nearby German grabbed Lyddie's arms and slammed her against the beam, tying her hands securely on the opposite side. She scowled in pain, feeling the rope slash deep. The way she was fixed forced her to stare at the smaller platform where the executioner still rested lazily. The soldier tying Lyddie stepped back, observed his work, and then nodded his approval to the rifleman.

_This is it._ Lyddie gulped, straightening her back against the rough pole. She felt her heart pounding in her ears and against her ribcage, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. Never had she felt her stomach roil and twist so desperately.

Velheim turned stiffly to the gunman, who had now snapped to attention and held his rifle in the normal place with its barrel next to his ear. He stared straight at Lyddie, meeting her frightened gaze with his own, merciless one. Hidden in the shadows by the bill of his taupe, canvas cap, the eyes watched blankly.

"Make ready!" Lyddie squeezed her eyes shut as the gunman snapped the rifle across his chest, holding the barrel in one hand and the trigger in the other.

"Aim!" The gun's end instantly came up to the soldier's eye, ready to be fired. He steadied his aim on the girl, bracing himself in the silence.

Velheim intentionally let the hushed solemnity dangle heavily in the air. But then the deadly word came, the final command Lyddie expected to hear.

"Fire!"

The crowd whooped in excitement, awaiting the kill. Lyddie pressed her body hard against the pole, turning her face away. She heard a snap-click as the rifle cocked mechanically, and, expecting to hear the loud bang of gunfire, she cringed and tensed fearfully.

But she did not hear anything.

She opened her eyes, seeing a plank of wood on the executioner's platform see-saw up and smack his gun barrel, causing it to tip up crazily. The burly soldier fell back, knocked off his feet. The gun went flying out of his fingers, skittering off the edge of the platform. His backfired shot went flying up past Lydia, missing her head by mere centimeters. She looked up, glimpsing a scary black hole among the splintered wood of the beam.

In the next second, a whip snaked through the air from the edge of the crowd and seized Velheim's leg. The whip pulled tight and yanked the colonel's legs out from under him. With a shout, he disappeared over the edge of the raised structure.

The crowd began to scatter; some ran out of terror, some were looking for the traitor. Soldiers rushed forward, possessing guns, shooting anyone who fell under their aim. They would take no chances. Screams and bawls filled the square as numerous people fled, dragging family or friends behind. Bullet-stricken Germans fell, blood pouring freely from their wounds. Soon the dirt was muddy with maroon pools of sludge.

Then Lyddie saw him—a young man pulled himself onto the smaller platform, gun in one hand and whip in the other. He was strong and rugged-looking, his hat's rim bent back in the breeze. He called down to someone below in his commanding, no more than half-panicked voice. "Dad! Dad, get the girl, I'll hold them off!" He snapped the leather bullwhip threateningly and fired a shot at a Nazi trying to scramble onto the platform.

Suddenly realizing her situation, Lyddie began to yank at her bonds, aware of new cuts beginning to spurt blood. She felt the ropes slacken slightly, but not much.

An older man appeared next to the first, gripping a hand to his dark gray, bucket-shaped hat. He clutched a worn suitcase to his chest, his expression contorted as he saw the disruption around him. "I might need a little cover!" he yelled back, squinting at the other doubtfully.

"All right, stay behind me!"

The pair jumped off the platform, the young man firing his gun to clear the path. Plowing ahead blindly, the older one kept his head down, watching his feet with deep concentration. The leader moved confidently, snapping and shooting his way through the crowd. When his bullet resource diminished, he tore another gun from a Nazi's grip and used it instead.

The senior had climbed up onto Lyddie's platform and was jogging toward her, ducking his head as gunfire filled the air around him. In spite of the circumstances, he took the time to smile politely at Lyddie and nod his greetings. He wiped his bearded cheek on a coat sleeve and moved around her, humming cheerfully. Lyddie felt the ropes come loose, and she jerked her hands free.

The man's rich voice came from behind her. "There, I suppose we can go now."

The strong young man had clambered backwards up onto the platform, dragging himself with his elbow. Holding the Nazi gun in both hands to clear enemies, Lyddie saw his whip hanging at his side like a coiled serpent. She watched, awe-stricken and confused, seeing bodies fall like leaves from a tree under the man's fire. Gulping hard, she rolled the remaining rope off her wrists, the blood sticky on her hands.

Lyddie's older rescuer jammed a hand inside a pant pocket and shook his head with a censorious air. "Junior," he clicked with displeasure, "when you show up somewhere, you do indeed make an entrance."

The youth wearing the fedora looked angry for a second, but only signaled in the direction of an exit. "Never mind that, let's just _go_!"

The middle-aged man, whom Lyddie could suppose wasthe father due to the fact that he called the young one "Junior," raised his thick brows and sighed. He looked hopelessly at Lyddie as if to say, _you heard him, let's move it_.

Now the only occupants left alive in the square were simply concentrating on getting out and escaping the Nazis' gunfire, so no one in the mob noticed the two men and girl dash up a flight of stairs and leave the chaos and destruction behind.

But Colonel Hedrick Velheim, heaving himself up to rest on the small platform, saw the trio disappear around a corner. Beating the hollow timber edifice with his hand, his eyes filled with livid flames. He cursed in a howl.

The colonel dragged himself up taller and windmilled his arm frantically to catch the attention of his soldiers. "After them!" he pointed. His troops broke off their attack and followed Velheim's gesturing hands. They hurriedly turned and crowded through the main gate.

Outside in the shadowy alley, Lyddie found the older, gray-bearded man lugging himself onto a large ebony horse, swinging a leg over the saddle. He immediately dug his heels into the stallion's flank and took off at a gallop, disappearing around the nearby corner. She heard the animal's reverberating hoof claps echo off the buildings of the street.

Lyddie stopped where she was, paralyzed in the middle of the vacant, cobbled road. The man called Junior flew past her, jumping onto a second horse. He veered the animal around and pointed to the last mount. "Get on, we've gotta go now!"

Even as she shook her head in furious disagreement, Lydia clumsily pulled herself up, sitting crooked in the leather seat. She held the horn of the saddle, trying to balance herself. "But I don't know how to ride a horse!" she declared honestly.

The man shrugged—there was nothing he could do about that at the moment. "Now's a good time to learn." He spun his mare back into the direction his father had gone, holding the reins in a hand. He sat straight in the saddle, pulling his fedora down tight. "Just kick hard, then hold on."

A moment later he had thrust the animal into a charging flight, leaning ahead skillfully. He bowed into the turn and tailed his father.

Looking back between the two buildings she hid in, Lyddie saw in the distance fifteen-some Nazi soldiers filtering out of the square. Readying for the chase, they jumped into jeeps and trucks, setting up machine guns and loading rifles. They called to each other in their native tongue, looking around nervously and rubbing their gloved hands together.

Without thinking, knowing that this impulsive antic would probably turn out badly, she kicked at the horse's sides with all her might, and the silvery-haired steed jumped into a run behind Lyddie's two liberators.


	8. Making the Train

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks to all who have reviewed! Lyddie escapes with the two Joneses…

**CHAPTER 8**

Indiana caught up with his father with no trouble. When the younger doctor reached him, Henry took out his watch and glanced down at the time. Narrowing his eyes uneasily at his son, he put the timepiece back in his pocket with a spark of golden light. He bounced up and down atop the horse's every stride, his elbows flapping like wings.

"We've got to hurry if we want to make the train," the elder called over the deafening sounds of the horses' hooves, his voice breaking with each jerk of the mount.

"We'll make it," Indiana yelled back roughly.

The girl appeared shakily next to Indiana, the look on her face confirming her terror. Her countenance was ashen with panic as her hair flew behind her, a trailing cape of dark brown fabric. Gripping the reins and saddle horn to her stomach, she glanced over at the two men, her eyes wide. They grinned back half-heartedly, trying to be reassuring. She swallowed with a nauseated expression and peered to the front.

"Dad, how far—"

Indiana stopped in the middle of his question, for he was suddenly aware of a faint, rumbling hum behind them that rose to a droning throb of machinery. The man twisted around to look back, his father following his aghast, fretful stare. Indy shook his head, closing his eyes with a grumble. "They never surrender…"

Abrupt engine roar burst out from behind them, accompanied by a ricocheting gunshot that sent a chunk of concrete from a nearby dwelling smashing to the ground. The horses threw their heads in shock and jumped back, their hooves clattering noisily on the pavement. Indiana had to fight to stay in control. Henry's stallion reared back; the doctor yelled a futile "Stop!" and smacked a hand to his head to keep his hat on.

A jeep lurched around the corner at a breakneck speed, and when the Nazi passengers caught site of the escaped prisoner and her rescuers they immediately started to trigger their machine gun. Bullets ripped into the cobbled street, flinging dirt and lumps of stone into the air. "There they are!" the soldiers called to the automobile's driver, pounding the backs of the leather seats in excitement.

"Guns, Junior!" Henry exclaimed in angst, throwing an arm backwards in a wild motion. "They have guns!"

The other man slapped a fist on his leg angrily. "I _know_, Dad!"

Indiana's miserable, helpless stare turned back to his father. Henry had crossed his hands over his knees and raised an eyebrow, squeezing his lips together in annoyance. "They'll stop at nothing, will they?" he inquired of their young ward, whose mouth fell an increment further.

The girl's knuckles were turning white from holding the reins so tensely; she rode awkwardly in her seat, tilted to the left slightly. Watching the pair of doctors worriedly, she blinked away the dirt that burst from the geysers of sand and grit caused by the volley of bullets. Leaning forward into the horse's mane, she evaded the shots that seared the air around her.

"Where's the station, Dad?" Indy asked before hastily dropping his head, avoiding another flurry of gunshots.

Henry pointed a finger forward quickly and bent to check his umbrella, which was hanging from the saddle right next to his leg. "It's just ahead, but I've no doubt our friends know where we're going."

The archaeologist glanced over his shoulder at the pursuing vehicle, then back to the front. Ahead was a street that veered away from the direction they needed to go, heading to another section of the city. Making his decision, he firmly set his mouth into a determined line and kicked his horse into a rapid sprint. "Let's go!" he instructed the other two.

Appalled, Indy's colleagues exchanged a disbelieving glance. Henry's horse followed directly behind his son as it sped up alongside him. "Junior, don't be ridiculous! You can't expect to outrun them!"

"Go, go!" Indiana yelled in ignorance, swerving his mount into an alleyway. A storm of bullets rained down on the fleeing trio, putting holes in bricked houses and shattering cheaply paned windows. A slender hair's breath was all that separated the fleers from an injury, but at the moment luck was on their side.

The Nazis' car screeched to a halt at the entrance to the alley, firing still. The gunman squeezed one eye shut and clenched his teeth as the shots erupted out of the weapon. Empty shells fell to the side into a growing pile that smoldered with heat.

"Come on, they're getting away!" one soldier called, wanting to chase after the three horse-riders who disappeared into the shadows of the passage. The driver of the vehicle shrugged outspokenly in answer, telling him that the car was an impossible fit. Cursing, the Nazi shoved the seemingly blind, trigger-happy gunman away with a shoulder and let out some of his own shots.

Indiana's mount suddenly crumbled from underneath him, the animal's legs incapable of bearing any weight as it felt a hot bullet knife into its flesh. Tossing its head in agony, the horse collapsed on its side, the bloodied legs twitching slightly. Indiana fell with it, letting out a shout as he came into contact with the hard ground. He quickly yanked his leg out from under the dead horse, cringing as a delicate sting shot up his limb.

"Junior!" Henry trotted up beside the lifeless animal where his son was lying and reached down toward him. "Junior, are you all right?"

Slowing out of a canter, the girl arrived next to Indiana's father, her hair windblown and her face pink from the cool air against her skin. Concerned, she gasped and looked down fearfully, observing the motionless horse and then Indiana's leg. Both were spattered with blood, the specks of cherry color showing up well on the doctor's chocolate-colored jacket and his mare's dark, matted fur.

Indiana reached up to the teenager's horse and held the stirrup of the saddle. He winced again and pulled up to his sore feet, leaning on the horse. With difficulty, he lugged himself onto the girl's horse, settling behind her in the large saddle. In the distance, the jeep could be heard starting off yet again, the Nazis angry and frustrated with their failure.

"You aren't hurt, are you?" the girl asked with the worry palpable in her voice, which broke with the dryness of her throat.

The archaeologist restored her confidence with a pat on the leg. "It's all right, kid, I'll survive." Indiana blew a sigh and adjusted his position. "Let's hope they don't follow us," he muttered.

Wrapping his arms about her waist, he grasped the reigns on the other side. A piercing train whistle made everyone look up and see a cloud of smoke billow up into the pure azure sky.

"Dad," Indiana asked sharply, directing the question to the side where his father's stallion pawed eagerly, "what's our train number?"

Henry arched an eyebrow cynically. "You expect me to know the number?"

"You have the tickets."

Indiana's father sighed exasperatedly and reached into his pocket for the travel documents. Reading over his glasses from the small print, he took out his watch at the same time. "We're taking train fourteen on a route from Berlin, Germany to Zurich, Switzerland with a departure time of twelve o'clock on the dot…" Opening the glistening gold cover, Henry glanced down at his timepiece. "Which means that the train has already left and we are stranded here until six o'clock tonight—"

Swearing inwardly, Indiana thrust his horse back into a gallop, Henry following after. Slipping the watch back into his jacket, he trotted by his son disdainfully. "Junior," he said firmly, "you're getting into a bad habit of leaving your messes behind." He took a quick look back at the dead horse, stretched out with puddles of blood surrounding the body. Scowling at the odor, he pushed his stallion forward. "Don't you think people will smell that?"

They rode to the end of the alley, coming to a broad, more populated avenue. The sidewalks were teeming with people while the street was fairly barren; only a few cars or bicycles drove on the rocky streets. Nazi guards, standing stiffly at every corner with hands behind their backs, watched the people with fleeing interest, their guns in full view across their chests. The shoppers who walked hid their faces inside scarves or collars, guarding baskets of food and parcels wrapped in ordinary brown paper. The stores still in operation displayed wares in dirty stands or clouded glass cases—other buildings were boarded up and closed to the public. The customers did business quietly, trying to appear relaxed and normal in front of the guards.

The girl rapidly ducked her head, hiding her face from the Nazis' view. Indiana directed the horse to the street, feigning a smile to the guards with a nod of his head. People looked briefly to the newcomers, but then ignored them completely. No one thought it was odd at all to see the pair of horses appear from nowhere.

From inside her shirt, the girl's voice was muffled. "It's not far, right?" she asked for encouragement.

Holding his mount at a trot, Indiana's gaze swept the partially deserted avenue. At the end of the street the paths branched apart, one junction leading uphill while the other led below. A great, half-cylinder building sat higher than the other rooftops, with walls made of paneled glass fused together with iron. Seeing through the glass, Indiana watched smoke swell to the ceiling from several locomotives' vents and escape through outlets in the ceiling. People were obscured black dots that moved inside, rushing to their destinations.

"That's it, up ahead," Henry answered, pointing to the giant station. "Are we going to stay here all day?"

"What do you mean?" Indy countered smoothly, his coat slapping his back. "We can still make the twelve o'clock train."

The horses took off up the high road, Henry trailing unwillingly after at a slower lope. He pulled out his watch jerkily and noticed the time—nine minutes after twelve. Following the path of the downsloping street, he saw parked cars and motorcycles inside a low-ceilinged garage. Henry pocketed his timepiece. "Junior," he called, "we're supposed to leave the horses down there!"

"It's faster this way!" Indiana shouted over his shoulder, coming up to the station's entrance where an awning shaded travelers who were waiting for transportation. Henry watched, astonished, as his son dropped under the opening, still on the never-slowing horse. The elder man pulled to a stop, straining to see beyond the building's reflecting glass. He could make out several packages and papers pinwheeling into the air, then saw his son ducking under a sudden explosion of luggage.

With a sigh, he shrugged his shoulders forward and pushed his horse into the train station after his son. "This is intolerable," he garbled incoherently.

Inside, the station was loud with the sounds of people and train engines, shrill whistles shattering the air every other minute. Newsstands and small stores lined the station's pair of lengthy walls, the customers picking out items they forgot while packing or extra things they might need. A long line extended from a currency exchange booth, and nearby a few businessmen could be seen waiting to get their shoes polished.

A clear path was left for Henry where Indiana had evidently pummeled through the crowd, the pandemonium marked on either side. Suitcases had burst open and scattered clothing all over the place, while people were still recovering from throwing themselves out of Indy's path. A sack of vegetables had been dropped in the confusion, so now tomatoes, cabbage heads, and carrots were being smashed underfoot. Gritting his teeth in embarrassment, Henry galloped through the crowd on his mount, mumbling his apologies amidst the screams and clatter of hooves.

The doctor saw his son and the girl in the distance, and in front of them were the indicative packages and suitcases blossoming into the air like fireworks. Lyddie could be heard yelping in fear, even as Indy's reassuring arm was wrapped around her waist firmly. Their silver mount reared with a neigh and wrenched to a stop. They were directly under a green sign labeled 14, a white arrow pointing to a stairway leading to a lower level. Indiana jumped to the ground and helped the girl slide out of the saddle, holding her arm steadily. Henry was already halfway off his horse before he trotted up behind them, swiftly unhooking his suitcase and umbrella from the seat. Several passersby watched confusedly from a toiletries booth across from them.

"Come on, Dad," Indiana said impatiently, motioning to the stairs.

Henry started down the steps. Loosing his footing for a moment, he swung his black briefcase wildly. "Good grief, boy! Why can't we just wait for the six o'clock line?"

The metal staircase rattled underneath the threesome's weight, shaking with every step. Indiana held up the rear, pushing his companions along. "Because we're fugitives, Dad!" the archaeologist yelled back. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend the rest of the day in this Nazi worm hole!"

The lower floor of the station was not closed against the outside, the forest visible below. The wind played with the newspapers and magazines in a newsstand, flinging trash across the wooden floor. A small café was built into a wall, the customers seated at a narrow, marble table that encircled the outside perimeter of the shop.

The number fourteen train was just beginning to pull away, huffing in its effort to get out of the station. Smoke clouded out of the flue, fading from a dark gray veil to a wispy white swirl of ash. The passengers could be seen through the windows, slowly blurring into a smudge of color as the locomotive sped up.

Indiana lunged forward, pulling his father and the girl along with him. He stopped at the edge of the timber deck, pausing for a second to get his bearings. As the last car went grinding past, Indiana slowly leaned forward, preparing for his chance. "We're jumping," he stated decisively, waiting for the end of the car to go by.

"Junior, have you gone mad?" his father cried. His mouth opened in speechless panic as he gawked at his son, and he tightened his grip on the briefcase at his side. He looked down at the girl and saw a ghostly expression wash over her face.

"Grab on to the railing," Indiana instructed quickly. As the last boxcar's end came into view, the archaeologist swung himself onto the back with a handrail and immediately turned to intercept the next person.

The other two looked at each other expectantly. Henry beamed a puckered-lip smile over at the girl and nervously observed the toes of his shoes. "You go first, my dear," he offered sweetly.

"Come on!" Indy called, knowing that time was slipping fast. A brick wall loomed ahead where the train station ended and countryside began, and if one of them were left behind all was lost. On the other side, a hill sloped down at a deadly angle, the rocky incline ending where a moat-like river encircled half of the train station.

Indiana held out his arms to the girl, who jumped onto the back beside him, scuttling to safety and clinging to the wall with huge blue eyes.

A customer from the café rushed to the edge of the platform by Henry, demanding to know what had come over them. He was young, perhaps only a teenager, but still taller than the older doctor. His red hair stirred in the wind.

Not understanding the man's German, Henry gulped uncertainly and looked away. Slipping his umbrella between the straps of his bag, he tossed the luggage to Indiana. Set to jump, Henry crouched and tortured his lower lip with his teeth.

"Dad, let's go!" Indiana reached out, the stone divider drawing closer and closer.

Henry loped along the rim of the raised area, gathering speed. He took a running leap onto the caboose's narrow ledge, his fingers closing around the brass balustrade. His grip slipped slightly on the smooth railing, but Indiana's hands flew to grasp his father's wrists. Henry hung over the edge, his feet dangling precariously near the rock-strewn track, pebbles bouncing off of his legs. The wall whooshed past, and the train picked up momentum as it rattled onto a crisscrossed metal bridge. Indiana pulled his father onto the ledge, smiling with a relieved sigh.

"Well, we made the train," Henry observed.


	9. On Their Way

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** In the previous chapter, Lyddie escaped the clutches of Velheim and his Nazis. Now she and the Joneses are on their way to Switzerland and safety…

**Chapter 9**

Lyddie shoved the rusty door of the caboose to the side, the constant wind licking at her hair and face. She stumbled into the badly lit baggage car, falling to a seat against a large crate. Brushing strands of hair out of her eyes, she breathed deeply of the car's ancient, grimy smell. Several unruly stacks of bags and suitcases had tipped over, and the cartons and packages held to the walls by rope still trembled as the train shuddered over track.

The other men staggered in after her, appearing in the same condition of disarray and fatigue as Lyddie. The teenager gave them each a sincere smile, letting out her breath. One man dropped against the wall and the other leaned on a coffin-shaped box, both moaning in unison. The older one, supported by the side of the boxcar, tipped back his plaid hat and panted tiredly.

"Now," he said, sticking a finger inside his right chest pocket, "that wasn't as hard as you expected, was it, Indiana?"

Lyddie looked up at both of the rescuers, raising a finger to point in disbelief. "You're…? That doctor… Indiana Jones?" Her voice illustrated the shock that ignited in her eyes like instant fire. She thought that the man Velheim had spoken of was an archaeologist, nothing more—not a handsome young man who rescued people like it was an everyday occurrence.

Indiana glanced up, removing his hat and swiping a hand across the brim. Dust fell from his fingertips. "Yeah," he said with a lopsided grin at her. "And you?"

"Lyddie Marques," she replied, a self-conscious smile teasing her lips. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

Indiana nodded over at the other man indifferently. "My dad."

"Professor Henry Jones," the gentleman finished, folding his hands at the waist. The doctor tipped his head in greeting, smirking with the same unevenness as his son. "Pleasure to meet you."

Lyddie nodded her concurrence with a smile, pulling uncomfortably at the collar of her shirt. She was hot and grubby from the getaway and needed to get herself cleaned up; hopefully she'd be able to wash her clothes and change into something less stained and bloody. Over the past few weeks she had barely been permitted to wipe her face, so a bowl of water and bar of soap were reflections Lyddie accepted with open arms.

As if reading her mind, Indiana pushed himself away from the tall box he had used as a brace and stretched, his arms nearly reaching the ceiling of the boxcar. Offering an arm to Lyddie, he gestured with a hand toward the car's exit at the opposite end. "If you don't mind, I'd like a shower and some lunch."

Henry swung his umbrella around in a wide circle, the reddish wood of the polished hook curved over his wrist. "Sounds good, Junior."

"The tickets?"

Tucking his suitcase under an arm, Indy's father pulled the wad of rumpled papers from a back pocket. He crushed them into the palm of his son, who smoothed them out and mumbled the words to himself. "Thirty-four," he read, stepping over a fallen plastic container.

They moved to the opposite door and Indiana yanked it to the side, throwing all his weight into the hatch. The opening was rusted into place, but with sufficient groaning it was dislodged. Air rushed in, ripping at their clothes and hair. Balancing on the narrow walkway linking the two cars, the track rushing by underneath them, the group heaved the door aside and came into a long dining car. Several people sat in padded booths, surrounded by various dishes set on black marble tables. As the customers noticed the filthy trio make their way down the center of the car, a silence fell onto them like a layer of soft snow. The landscape flew past the windows in a green and blue smudge, confirming that the trip was well underway. Indy, Henry, and Lyddie grinned nonchalantly and nodded down at the car's occupants, greeting them as though everything was normal. People in fur coats, suits, and gowns frowned up in disdain.

Coming to the end of the car, Henry noticed the source of the food. Tables were decked with bowls full of fruit, trays adorned with miniature sandwiches and small cakes, platters of overlapping meat, and dishes covered in chocolate desserts. An ice sculpture of a swan sat gracefully in the center, dripping slightly onto a linen towel beneath.

Rubbing his hands together in glee, Henry made for the table. "Ooh, a buffet," he mumbled happily. But Indiana caught him by a stretchy black suspender.

"Not now, Dad," he said warningly. He released the suspender, letting it snap against his father's back.

The professor scowled threateningly and was about to complain, but then saw fifty pairs of eyes staring with puzzled, leery expressions. He smiled courteously and slipped into place behind his son.

When they had reached the passenger cars, Henry exhaled noisily. "I certainly am glad we made it through that."

"Yeah, Dad," Indy added, "you can breathe easy. We're almost there."

The passenger cars were wider than the others, able to accommodate several people in each room. A narrow hallway was set inside the western interior of each car, with fairly large-sized rooms in the opposite area. Thick maroon carpet decorated with yellow roses softened their footsteps as they passed doors set with golden letters. Light glowed down from small, dome-shaped lanterns in the ceiling.

Glancing down at the tickets, Indy announced the surpassed numbers. "Thirty-one, thirty-two… Here we go." Pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket, he turned it over and shook out a silver key. He pushed the key into the lock and jangled it to its side.

"What are you doing?"

A stout maid appeared next to Indiana, a confused look on her chubby face. Her gaze fell on each in the group, the expression becoming more befuddled with each passing moment. Her gray uniform was crisp and clean compared to the dirt-stained clothing of Indy's troupe.

"We're going into our room." The young archaeologist was clearly unhappy at being questioned. Looking down at her, he pulled the key from the lock and crossed his arms.

"_Your _room?" the maid repeated, shocked. "But this is where the Lieutenant Releigh and his group is staying." Her finger traced a silent swastika in the air.

Henry blinked, the anger beginning to tease his features. "Are you telling us that a bunch of Nazis took our room?"

The short woman was flustered. "I do apologize, good sirs. You were not here when we boarded, we thought you weren't coming, and we couldn't stop them—they demanded your room."

Henry, appalled at this, threw his hands into the air with a disgusted, "Intolerable!"

"Well, they're just going to have to find another place, because this one is _ours_." Indiana flashed the tickets in front of the lady's black eyes.

"Wait!" The maid's hand fell on Indiana's shoulder. "What are you going to do?"

"Listen, lady," the brown-haired doctor told her sternly, unprying her hand and turning her around, "go and… make a bed, or something. If you're not busy, we'd love some of those little bottles of shampoo."

In a huff, the maid spun and disappeared down the hallway. A door could be heard slamming somewhere in the distance.

Smiling a faint, sarcastic smile, Henry stuck his tongue on the inside of his cheek. "Way to tell her, son."

"Yeah, thanks."

Muffled by the thick door, drunken laughter exploded inside the room. "What are we going to do about our friends, here?" Henry continued. "I don't suppose we can just ask?"

Lyddie, watching with a quick idea forming in her mind, suddenly stepped forward and snatched Indiana's gun from the leather holster at his waist. Stunned, the archaeologist stepped back and confusedly watched the girl check the gun's ammunition supply.

Holding the weapon up for Indiana to see, Lyddie felt her heart start to thud. Her voice trembled. "Can I borrow this?"

Indy could only begin to mouth the skeptical word "what?", too startled to speak. In a second Lyddie had knocked on their room's door and stuck her head into the quarters. A stifled German voice could be heard asking what she wanted.

"I'm so sorry, sirs," Lyddie said, mocking the voice of the maid they'd just encountered. She kept the gun behind her back, out of the Germans' view. "May I suggest that I turn your beds down before nightfall?"

"Nein," a Nazi replied.

They were all sitting amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke, their jackets unbuttoned and hair muddled. Lyddie could see powerfully built muscles ripple underneath white tank tops, and her lower lip began to quaver. They looked up in blatant disregard, annoyed that their party had been interrupted.

Figuring out that they meant no, Lyddie nodded understandingly and bowed her head. "Anything else, then?"

His English heavily accented, another soldier answered coarsely, "Wine."

After a second, she grasped the barely comprehendible word and wagged her head up and down vigorously. Her clutch on the rifle tensed. "Ah yes, I have some… right here."

Henry and Indy, surveying from the hallway, jaws dropped, watched as Lyddie skillfully pulled the gun from behind her and the group inside called out in alarm. A curtain of fog wafted away of the room, blowing out the cracked windows of the hallway.

"Be quiet, please," Lyddie said evenly to the men. "Come out here to the hallway."

Father and son exchanged an astonished glance. The girl muttered to Indy over her shoulder, "Be ready. There are four of them."

Indiana got the idea by the time the first soldier appeared in the doorway; the young archaeologist seized him by the collar and threw him against the opposite wall, then let him slide to the floor as he lost consciousness. The next three were dispensed of similarly, filing out one by one under the close watch of Lyddie and the gun. Within moments, the soldiers were piled in the hallway.

"Smart girl," Indiana mumbled, frowning into the now empty room.

"Indeed," Henry agreed. His look was one of pride and wonder, a slight grin dancing on his face. He cleared his throat and glanced over at his son. "Now then… I guess these are our quarters now. But you _will_ have to clean up this particular mess before we get too far."

"I'll help," Lydia offered. "I think the compartment next to this is a storage cupboard, and they should all fit in there."

Tilting his head with a dim smile that was more lopsided than usual, Indiana chuckled and moved to assist his new friend.


	10. Contemplation

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Velheim contemplates the Joneses' escape.

**Chapter 10**

Berlin was quiet—almost eerily so. Very few beams of light dared to break through the stormy layer of haze that had arisen the day after Lydia Marques's departure. Large droplets of steamy rain fell onto shingled rooftops and tin awnings, dripping noisily.

The gray-haired colonel watched the clouds drift to cover the sun and pull a thin veil over light, his hands held tensely behind his back. His blue eyes taking in the cityscape, he examined the dead-looking capital from his single window. The sunlight shot streaks of saffron into his crystal irises, blinding him some. He squinted and squeezed his hands together harder. He feared that if he released his grip on either wrist, he would go mad and strangle one of the soldiers posted at the doorway of his office.

They had lost the Joneses. _Twice_.

It was overcast outside, and the same within the plain workplace of Velheim. The climate was a mirror image of him; the darkened sky matched his angry features, and the hot temperature was accurately equivalent to his fuming thoughts. The filtered light shone weakly through the one large window of his operating area, making the wood of the mahogany desk shine.

Snapping his heels, the man spun and paced the edge of his desk. The thought was unbearable—to be so close to your goal only to have the ground fall from underneath your feet! Somehow, the Joneses had evaded his troops and entered the square without being noticed. And then had outrun his soldiers—on _horses_!

"What can we do?" Velheim was speaking partly to himself and partly to the sergeant posted at his large pair of double doors. The young man perked up and looked confused, wondering if he should answer. His black-mopped head cocked to the side a fraction; he stepped forward and slid into a waiting posture.

Velheim looked up, appearing beaten. "Do we know where they went?"

"Ja, Herr Colonel. In the direction of the train station."

The colonel straightened. "Train?" he echoed in a whisper. The troubled lines that creased his forehead were darkened by shadows. He struggled with his memory. "The execution was scheduled for noon, correct?"

The other looked thoughtful. "Yes, sir. It was about four minutes before twelve o'clock when you reached Fisentung Square."

"What lines leave at noon?"

The sergeant shook his head blankly. "Many, sir."

"Care to guess?" Velheim was being satirical, cupping a cheek in his hand and leaning tiredly onto it, putting his weight onto the desk. But the sergeant took him seriously.

"I think there are seventy that pass through there—"

"Perfect," Velheim mumbled into his palm, looking in the direction of the window. The movement sent rays of sunshine shooting across his face, crystallizing the sapphire spheres of his eyes.

"—but only a dozen or so leave at midday."

Velheim glanced up, the hope and color budding on his face. Things might not be so terrible after all. "What dozen?"

"I don't know, Herr Colonel." The adolescent bounced on the soles of his feet uninterestedly. "But I believe Lieutenant Releigh and three others were on one of them, bound for Munich. They just received the assignment today."

"The Munich line… it goes on…" Velheim trailed off, recalling. He stared at the hand on his desk, the scars in his knuckles clearly seen in the faint orange light. "… to Switzerland?"

"Yes, Herr Colonel, but they can't go there—"

"That's it, then." The expressionless colonel nodded and set his jaw, leaning wearily on his desk, supported by his elbows. He breathed slowly through his nose to calm himself. "The spineless dogs fled to neutral ground."

Realizing their helpless situation, the sergeant fought for an idea. "What can we do?" His grasp on the gun was strangling. Apprehension suddenly tightened his features as he leaned forward anxiously, looking like a weedy tree bent in a soft breeze.

Hedrick Velheim looked up with an eyebrow sarcastically curved. "How strange, Sergeant. I believe that's exactly what I asked you at the beginning of this **discussion."**


	11. On the Train

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Lyddie and the Joneses are on their way to freedom…

**CHAPTER 11**

Standing in the doorway, Indiana Jones took a long, slow look about the medium-sized quarters he and his friends now inhabited. He ran a hand through his mop of dark hair and sighed, unbuttoning his now clean linen shirt.

Things had settled down after they'd all had a chance to shower and have a decent meal, and now everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Shaking his head with a dumbfounded grin, the doctor ducked under the low doorframe. Indiana was still amazed at the girl's serene manner and steadiness; the sight of her commanding four Nazis without a single stutter was staggering. He was sure he'd like the newcomer.

Indiana was pleased they'd won the fight for these quarters. A large, rectangular window framed by satin drapes showed the countryside zipping past, the pane set into a blue-painted wall bedecked by several small paintings. A smooth white, earthenware sink and petite cupboard were to the right of the window, while a closet occupied a tiny section to the left. The sink was inserted into a white marble countertop touched with swirls of black.

The adjacent wall on one side was inhabited by a heavily pillowed sofa, on which Henry slept soundly, wrapped in a woven blanket with a pillow over his face. Shaking insecurely, a large dresser was nailed into the ground across from the sleeping man, and sitting alongside was a cushioned wooden chair, the arms winding into intricate carvings. Nearest to Indiana were the two bunk beds, positioned on both sides of the room. To the archaeologist the accommodations seemed almost perfectly symmetrical.

Moaning tiredly, Indiana pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against the bunk bed on the right side. For the first time he saw Lyddie, sitting cross-legged in the chair next to the dresser. She looked up with her weary eyes and pulled the blanket tighter about her, bringing her knees up to her chest.

"Can't sleep?" Indy asked, pulling off his shirt. His broad chest was muscular and tanned, marked by several scars that were evidence of past adventures. Wincing, he thumped onto the bunk bed and folded his shirt over a shoulder. The soft comforter and fresh sheets were heaven to his aching muscles.

Lyddie seemed surprised and a little embarrassed at this, so she diverted her gaze as her cheeks bloomed into bright, pink flowers. Her stare focused on Indiana's father. "Nope," she said quietly.

Henry's hand rested atop his chest, moving up and down with every breath. Lyddie observed with narrowed eyes, and all of a sudden the auburn head inclined to the side as she licked her lips idly. "How does he do it?"

Indy scratched his leg. "What?"

"He doesn't seem troubled at all." Lydia shrugged the quilt up onto her shoulders, hunching farther down into the seat. "After all that's happened, he can just come home and fall asleep."

"Yeah, well… Dad's seen a lot of things." The archaeologist crossed his legs and grasped a boot, pulling the shoestring out of its bow. Yanking hard, he wrenched the shoe off his sore foot. Sand spilled out and made a miniature hill on the ground, contrasting distinctly with the reddish-purple carpet. When Indy was satisfied with the growing pile, he threw the shoe aside.

"You guys are really close, huh?" There was a touch of envy in the girl's soft voice. Indiana glimpsed up and met Lydia's gaze, considering the question.

He remembered growing up without a mother and only half a father; his memories were of a parent who was infatuated with archaeology, continually busy with research. They'd never talked, except during arguments and scoldings. But then the whole thing had started with the Nazis and the Grail, and Henry had been kidnapped… the young doctor would never forget the fear he had felt for his father. Indiana was regretful that all those years he could have spent with him were wasted while he got himself in trouble and the professor worked on his projects. They still had a lot to make up.

"We weren't always," Indiana said remorsefully.

Lyddie nodded her understanding. For a moment quiet was all that could be heard, however Indiana cleared his throat and broke the silence. "How are you feeling?"

Closing her eyes briefly, the girl shrugged. "Considering I've got half the German army after me, I feel pretty good."

Indiana chuckled, jerking the other boot off and depositing more sand to his mound. Pulling the socks away from his tender feet, he whispered consolation to himself and grit his teeth in pain. Succeeding in getting undressed was his main goal for the night. Tomorrow, late in the afternoon, they would reach Zurich and then switch trains to go on to Bern. A hotel bedroom was a long-awaited sight at the moment.

Lyddie watched with constantly drooping eyelids, the need for sleep causing her eyes to burn. The only noises came from Henry's quiet snoring and the steady clatter of the train's engine, both blending into a long, droning hum. Outside, the deep purple sky faded into a dark blue, and stars pinpricked the sky in their invariable patterns. Lydia closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headboard of her chair, her breathing becoming slow and subtle.

Indiana's stare swept between his father and the girl, an entertained smile pulling his lips up to show the dimples in his cheeks. Shoving himself onto his feet with a groan, he rubbed his bare back. "You two are a couple of babies," he mumbled amusedly to the sleeping pair. The soles of his feet stung under his weight, reminding him of the rest he needed. He treaded softly over the heavily covered floor to Lydia and observed the slow rise and fall of her chest, making sure that she was asleep.

Working delicately, he slipped his hands underneath Lyddie's legs and neck, cradling her against his broad chest with the russet-haired head on his shoulder. He lifted her gently and was careful not to bang her limbs on the posts of the bed while he slid her under the covers. She was sleeping on the bottom bunk across from his, where Indiana could keep an eye on both Henry and her.

Lyddie inhaled deeply. "Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes blinked open just a little bit, slits of cerulean on a smooth, cream-colored face. Her troubles had not left them yet, and were still reflected in the pupils like a never-dying inferno.

Indy smiled down at her and ruffled her hair playfully. "Don't mention it, kid."

Closing her eyes, the girl grinned back at him and turned her cheek toward the cool pillow. The smile never left his face as Indiana Jones reached over and flipped the lights out, the dark rushing upon them like flooding water. Henry stirred on the couch, taking the pillow from his face.

Indy fell onto his bed, staring into the darkness contemplatively. Shaking his head, he shelved his thoughts and in a few minutes was under the sheets and fast asleep.


	12. Switzerland

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Lyddie and the Joneses reach Switzerland and meet up with Alessa and an old friend…

**Chapter 12**

It was early morning at the Bern train station, and when Alessa Harding saw the number six line, arriving from Zurich, her excitement grew. She held her lilac-colored handbag close to her chest, ignoring the bothersome gusts of wind that broke out from under the train's iron wheels. Her blonde hair waved underneath the furred hat, her eyes shadowed. The sun, a flaming circle of color, cast blinding golden light over the distant mountains' snowy peaks. The rays reflected off the steel exterior of the engine like silver flames. 

Very few people were at the station at the early hour; a few lingered near an unopened newsstand while the owner of a pastry shop prepared doughnuts and toasted bread. A young college student sat reading the Swiss paper, a large sandwich lying in its unrolled wrapper next to him. 

Alessa bounced edgily in the frosty mountain air and inhaled through her teeth. Glancing at the large clock bearing Roman numerals, she waited with impatience.

A tall, portly man hurried up beside the lean woman. His medium brown skin shone faintly with sweat, his breath coming in great wheezes. Removing the red hat that sat on top of his ebony-haired head, he wiped his bearded face with a coat sleeve. "The car is waiting," he announced in his deep voice, accented with Turkish. 

He wore a mushroom-colored suit and scarlet tie ornamented by a pale, hollow oval that resembled a sun. Around his broad waist, there was a wide sash of the same crimson tint, into which a white dress shirt was tucked. Matching beige slacks and a jacket finished off the suit. "I have not missed them?" he continued.

"No. Thanks for parking, Sallah," Alessa replied briefly.

Sallah patted the hat back onto his head with a self-conscious chuckle. "Ah, it is no problem, Ms. Harding." He glanced at the incoming train. "So this is the one?"

"I hope so," Alessa said. She smoothed the pale purple skirt over her legs and adjusted the fluttering brim of her sun-hat. Uneasiness prickling in her stomach, she swallowed as the worry pulled her lipsticked mouth into a frown. 

Painstakingly huffing to a screechy stop, the train halted and its ramps lowered. Travelers carrying baggage of all sizes exited the cars, in groups or by themselves. Few people were there to greet the arrivals, so they simply shoved by the pair of observers in their haste to reach the doors. Alessa's dread grew as her jade-green eyes flew over each ramp, searching for her boyfriend.

"Hey, honey!"

A waving arm caught her eye, and the dread left her with a relieved sigh. She smiled as she watched Indiana, Henry, and a young woman approach, carrying what little luggage they had. They were laughing at some unheard joke when they came up to Sallah and Alessa, smiling cheerfully at each other. Henry and Indy had not worn their coats during the extent of the trip, and still carried them casually over a shoulder or tucked into the crook of an arm. Both still sported their trademark hats; Henry, with his dark gray, plaid bucket-hat strolled beside Indiana, whose famous felt fedora hid his thick brown hair. 

The girl walking next to them was one who looked like she had been through more misery and tribulations a grown person could deal with. Her large eyes seemed to ache with pain and secrecy, her smile small and forlorn. Her clothing was wrinkled but clean, looking fresh and her hair was pulled into a curly ponytail at the back of her head.

Alessa wasted no time in rushing up to Indy and throwing her arms around his neck. Her relief washed away all doubts as she pulled back, beaming into his handsome face. "I hope this adventure was a good one, mister, because it was your last."

"No guarantees." Indiana smiled broadly and planted a kiss on her red lips. 

Jokily, Henry glanced at Sallah with cynicism in his sonorous voice. "If you don't mind, Sallah, I'd rather just shake hands."

The dark-skinned man appeared flustered, and it took him a moment to stutter his response. He nodded his discernment. "I take no offense, Professor Jones."

Henry kneeled with a chuckle, tucking his umbrella back into place in-between the straps of his briefcase. Standing, he gestured to the short girl. "Sallah, I'd like you to meet Lydia Marques. Thanks to her, we had a very nice vacation in the company of a rather large Nazi regime."

Lyddie smiled shyly as Sallah removed his hat respectfully, tipping his head forward with a grin. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marques. Any friend of Indy's is a friend of mine."

Lyddie suppressed a blush. "Thank you."

Pointing with an idle finger, Henry indicated Alessa. Lyddie looked over to where the blonde-haired woman and Indiana laughed together on a bench they had relocated to. "And that," Henry explained, "is one of Junior's 'teacher friends.' While moderately ditzy, she's not as bad as some of the others."

Lyddie's chin rose a bit as she scrutinized the woman. "You're very polite," she commented with an amused half-smile.

"Oh, no," Sallah put in, taking Henry's bag from the ground and slipping it under his arm, "he can be worse." The red-capped man rubbed a hand over his neatly trimmed beard sadly, shaking his head. "Much worse."

When Lydia Marques entered the room she and her friends would be sharing, she could not hold back her gasp of surprise. The others laughed at her amazement, coming into the suite behind her. 

At the girl's immediate left was a counter-encircled kitchen, complete with stovetop, refrigerator, and a cabinet full of food. Three pewter chairs with thin, curving arms were positioned at the bar, which was a thick slab of pastel red marble tinged with pale specks. The large, white tiles underneath Lydia's feet were suddenly cut off where a small living room began and the kitchen ended, soft gray carpet replacing it. 

A brick fireplace was built into one corner of the sitting room, two recliners angled toward it beside a low table and a tall, gilded lamp. A desk leaned against one wall, its glossy wood shining in the sunlight as a humpbacked radio played quiet music. Dazzling light shone through the window, the curtains pulled back to offer a glittering display of the Alps. 

Peering through the window, Lyddie saw the pale blue sky glowing overhead, touched faintly with yellow and pink as the sun pulled itself over the mountaintops. Reddish-brown rooftops, aligned next to each other in perfect, curving rows could be seen below, sloping down into the foothills of craggy, snow-capped mountains. A river twisted through the medieval photograph of Bern, colored in places by white ice and small boats. Long bridges that linked the landmasses provided transportation across the cold, dark waters. A church's towers reached into the sky, piercing the atmosphere with pointed steeples and belltowers.

Another door was open, set into the wall across from the miniature kitchen, and when Lyddie opened it, she saw their sleeping quarters. Two twin-sized beds were positioned next to the far wall, a mahogany nightstand in between. A picture of a green woodland hung above each headboard, light reflecting off the protective glass. An extensive, squat dresser that only came up to Lyddie's waist ran along the other side of the room, a silver-plated light positioned at each end. The bathroom was constructed into the front of the room, the first thing Lyddie saw when she looked to her right, while a balcony and two lawn chairs were at the other end. She noticed a rollaway bed tucked into an otherwise empty corner, and speculated about her sleeping place.

Coming back into the kitchen and living room half of the apartment, Lyddie found her friends snacking on a sack of chocolate cookies. Two sat in the wiry chairs while the other pair stood leaning on the counter idly. There were five of them now, two of which the girl had only met early that same morning. Lyddie recalled their names to refresh her memory.

Watching the blonde-haired, emerald-eyed woman who was Indiana Jones's girlfriend, Lydia felt a twinge of jealousy. When they'd arrived in Bern, the girl had caught sight of the beautiful woman immediately, as soon as she set foot on neutral land. She resented the teacher-to-be, but only a little—it was merely because she had been fortunate enough to find a man like Indiana Jones.

Lyddie felt her head shake slightly, a smile tugging on her lips. She moved into the living room, observing from the large, cushioned chair by the fireplace. Alessa wore a comfortable-looking lilac skirt and jacket, a wide-brimmed hat showing only half her face. The curls fell on her shoulders from underneath the bonnet in soft ringlets of gold.

And then, sure enough, there was Sallah, an old friend of the Joneses who had participated in at least two of Indy's adventures. The tall, portly man could have easily passed for Santa Claus despite the darkness of his skin and the Middle Eastern accent laced into his deep voice; he was cheery and humorous, ready to help whenever called for. A curly, ebony beard covered his cheeks and chin, which continued up onto his head where the hair stuck out from under a red, untasseled fez. 

Now his laughter rang pleasantly in the air as Henry meandered over, examining the view and plopping down by Lyddie in the opposite recliner, bag of cookies in hand. The other three went their own ways, leaving the pair alone in that section of the accommodations. Lyddie stared out the window, watching the people start to emerge from homes and cars beginning to snake through the twisting streets. Sallah's booming voice came from the bathroom, mingling with the sounds of running shower water.

Lyddie found herself wondering what the conclusion of her situation would be. Here she was, a refugee, with no family or home, in the middle of a war. It was very unlikely she'd be able to keep on scraping money off of the Joneses' backs, unless she could be of some use to them—and she knew the only way that was possible was if she helped them find the medallion. 

Lyddie sighed, leaning back into the deep recliner as she admired the landscape of Switzerland's capital city. She touched the cold pane of the window, crossing her legs. Humming to the song playing on the nearby radio, she tapped the rhythm out with the other hand on the arm of her chair.

"What are you thinking about, Lydia?" Henry's deep, heartening voice broke through her barrier of meditation. The girl turned her gaze from the picture-perfect vista of the metropolis to meet the professor's sympathetic eyes.

She breathed calmly, shrugging straightforwardly. "I'm just uncertain about the future, I guess."

"Aren't we all," the professor mused in reply, leaning forward to put the sack of desserts onto the coffee table between them. He sighed tiredly as he straightened, folding his hands over his stomach. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you. Indiana and I have got some things planned."

Lyddie nodded slowly, beginning to smile. "Do these plans include going after a long-lost medallion?"

Henry returned her grin, shrugging a little. "Something to that effect, yes."

"I guess I owe it to you." Lyddie looked back to the mountains, admiring, until a new question formed in her mind. "How much do you know about it?"

Lips pursed, Henry's head slanted shrewdly. A naive grin fluttered across his gray-bearded face. "Not enough, I'm afraid. The temple it's contained in is somewhere in southern Israel, I believe."

"Yeah, it's south of Jerusalem… and it's no ordinary temple," Lyddie sighed. "There're a lot of barriers."

"Barriers as in…?" 

Lyddie shook her head, swinging her legs above the floor absentmindedly. "Chasms in the ground, concealed blades and spears, fire—"

"Booby traps," Henry realized. He leaned back, squeezing his darkly checkered hat into his hand resignedly. "I've never had the pleasure of experiencing them." 

"There are three or four you must pass before reaching the room with the medallion." Lydia reached for the bag containing the cookies. The paper crinkled noisily as she searched the inside for the last pieces.

"Three _or _four?"

"Yes, well…" The girl bit into the moist, chocolaty dough, talking around the large piece. "Quite a few years back we put a bunch of rats and snakes in there, and I don't know if they're still alive."

Henry's face suddenly paled in fright, his eyes widening. "Rats?" he repeated for affirmation, his voice cracking as his throat went dry. 

"Mm-hmm," the girl nodded obliviously, swallowing. Licking her lips, she added,  "But like I said, they may be dead by now."

"Certainly," the professor breathed, trying to calm himself. "Of course, no problem." Then, with a groan, his head rolled down miserably. Staring at his hands, he grumbled into his chest. "This does not improve the situation at all."

"Why, you scared of rats?"

"To death," Henry acknowledged, rubbing to his forehead. Lyddie chewed and smiled, watching him moan to himself and peel his jacket off, unbuttoning the vest underneath. He exposed the linen shirt that was the third layer of his suit, looking uncomfortable and hot. 

"Well," Lyddie quipped, brushing the crumbs from her hands, "I'll just have to bring the mousetraps."


	13. In Hebron

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  The quest for the holy medallion begins…

**Chapter 13**

"No! No! _Five! _You've got too many!"

Indiana Jones turned quickly away from the short camel salesman, covering his eyes exasperatedly. About ten camels surrounded him and his father in the already crowded marketplace of Hebron, Israel, just as the sun was beginning to climb over the sand dunes. The salesman seemed perplexed as well, even though it was hard to see his face through the concealing fabric draping from the turban on his head.

Moving in a continuous, bright stream of bodies and clothing, the people of Hebron crowded around vendors and stalls, their baskets filled to the brim with packages and jars. Small children tugged parents along, excited to see what treasures the next booth displayed. Large, adobe buildings shaded the sidewalk on both sides of the dirty street, which was crowded with carts and pack animals.

Nearby, Alessa Harding and Lyddie Marques shivered in the early-morning cold. Sallah stood next to them, numerous bags of supplies sitting in the sand beside his feet. Shrugging off his jacket, the large man kindly draped the top part of his suit over Lyddie's quaking shoulders. "I am not cold," he explained in his deep, bashful voice. "And the sun will rise soon, anyhow."

Standing amid a jungle of sandy-brown camels on the other side of the street, Indiana called to his friend. "Sallah, could you come over here?"

"Of course, Indy," Sallah shouted in answer.

He patted the red hat that perched on top of his curly black head, beginning to maneuver through the torrent of people, stepping onto the curb of the opposite side after nearly getting run over by a speeding bicyclist. He came up to the group, facing a sickening problem. All of the gangly animals' faces were turned inward, pinning Indy and his father against the wall of a beehive-like dwelling. The brown-skinned man was forced to push his way between their closely pressed together backsides, getting hit in the face with the bristly end of a long tail more than once.

"Yes, Indy?" Sallah asked dutifully as he came into the small circle, pulling his tie back into place from where it had flown over his shoulder. 

"Tell this guy we want _five_ camels, not ten."

Indiana's friend turned obediently and glared down at the short dealer who was causing them so much trouble. "We want five camels, not ten." He held up a hand with his fingers stretched dramatically, emphasizing the number five.

Henry Jones, suffering from his usual morning crankiness, shook his head agitatedly with a roll of his eyes. "Good grief," he whimpered.

Indy sighed and leaned against the slowly warming wall, and Henry fell restlessly on top of a nearby basket filled with grain. Setting his briefcase atop his knees, he plunked his forehead down against the black leather. "Of all the camel merchants in Hebron, Junior, you had to pick the most stupid…"

"We are not going to spend all day finding a merchant who understands English, Dad." Indiana touched the brim of his hat, pulling it down to shade his eyes from the rising sun. "It would be impossible."

A small, bronzed boy dressed in a loose, papery top appeared from nowhere next to the camel salesman, looking up with huge black eyes. "Sabah el-kheir!" he called happily. Seeing the exasperated Joneses, he then noticed that the man was doing business and quickly apologized. "Assef."

The short man who was trying to sell the ten camels shrugged off the boy's rudeness and returned his greeting. He then pointed to Indiana, beginning a complicated conversation with his counterpart. The tone of his voice signified his misunderstanding, his constant, baffled shrugs telling all. His Arabic was so quick and overlapping that Indy found it hard to separate words. "Marhaba, ana mish fahem. Mumken tsaa'dni?"

After a moment, the boy nodded, and the salesman thumped him in the back appreciatively. "Shukran, shukran," he thanked.

Indiana and Henry shared a curious glance as the child stepped forward. "You talk English?" the boy asked hesitantly. His voice was uncertain, as if he was afraid of making a mistake.

"Yes, I speak English," Indiana said, pushing his fedora back onto the rear of his head and squinting down. "Can you help us communicate with our friend, here?"

The boy smiled joyfully, happy they'd understood. "Aywa, I can help. I am Dhabu. How many camels needed?" 

"_Five_." Indy stared straight at the older Arab, crossing his arms. His leather jacket crinkled between his arms. He hoped that their new friend would finally get the number through, and watched inquisitively as the bantering continued.

Immediately the boy nodded and recognized his words, turning quickly to his cohort. "Khamsa," he translated brusquely to the other man, and at once comprehension dawned on the salesman's face. The short, long-bearded man shook his head, a realizing "_Ohh…_" escaping his tanned lips. 

"How much will that be?" Indy asked Dhabu with a smile, unable to hide his amusement at the once again speechless dealer. He reached into his back pocket for the wallet that contained his money.

"Bi kam da?" the boy inquired in his native tongue, touching the deep purple sash tied around the merchant's waist.

"Huh? Ah, khams mia sheqel." The merchant waved his hand, leading half of the camels away. "Ayez arrouh ella beit." 

"Salam!" the boy called back, saying to the Joneses, "He wants five hundred sheqels." 

Sallah took hold of the five ropes dangling from the camel's bridles, turning them around so they could be led across the narrow road. The animals bellowed noisily, swaying as they stepped off the curb. Henry, walking behind, swatted the wiry tails away from his face with an annoyed karate chop. Protesting cantankerously, he watched his son press the money into the boy's hand. "I keep telling you, Junior, we should have gotten horses. This is a waste of good money."

"Camels are better for the desert, Dad," Indiana countered patiently, pocketing his wallet.

"It's not as if the trip will take us forty days and nights." Henry, in the middle of the road, dodged a wooden cart filled with hay, pulled by a small donkey that towed the rickety craft through traffic at a rapid pace. "Intolerable!" he yelled after it, coughing in the newly stirred dust.

They traversed the street at a meaningful march, reaching Lyddie and Alessa quickly, who had been guarding the sacks of provisions. Indy and Sallah let the girls marvel at the lanky animals while they strapped the supplies to the bulging humps on the light brown backs. Watching apathetically from where he leaned against an awning-protected stall, Henry felt a stirring of his coat and looked down, startled when he fell into the vast blackness of Dhabu's eyes. The boy smiled back broadly.

Jumping with surprise, Henry sidestepped cautiously away. His stare never leaving the child's oddly beaming face, the professor leaned over to his son. "Why is that boy following us?" he asked softly. 

Indy looked over his shoulder, knotting the rope holding a pack of medicinal items. "He probably just wants more money, Dad. Don't worry about him." Yanking the cord taut, he bent to pick up another bag.

Henry jammed his case underneath his arm disagreeably, ensuring its safety. From the other side of a nearby camel, the professor could hear Alessa's admiring "oohs" and "ahhs".

"Why you go into desert?" Dhabu's question came suddenly, his voice dripping with the annoying curiosity that all children possessed.

Indiana, kneeling on the ground while checking the contents of one bag, felt a hard nudge come from his father. Looking up, Henry whispered down agitatedly. "Do something about this, Junior."

"Dad, what do you want me to do?" Indy grunted, throwing the saddlebag over the lofty animal's flank. "Just ignore him."

"Yes, but—" Henry sensed the child at his side, then an abrupt, violent yanking of his coat. The shoulder of his gray jacket slipped to mid-arm. 

"Where is your guide? You need guide to go into desert." A rapid smile lighted on Dhabu's face. "I am guide! I know desert good. Please, let me be guide!" The yanking intensified.

"Indiana!" Henry called helplessly, his voice shaky, breaking with each relentless jerk.

The younger doctor rested against his camel contemplatively. "You know, a guide isn't a bad idea, Dad."

"No!" the senior professor demurred immediately, his voice growing a notch. "Definitely not, _Junior_." There was emphasis on his son's much-hated name. Henry wrenched his arm away from the child's grubby hands with a mumbled insult, coming closer to Indiana with intense warning in his deep voice. "I'll take the camels, yes, and that'll be enough. I'm _not _going to ride into the desert with _him_."

"Honestly, I think it'd be safer." Indiana's tone was reasoning as he took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead in the fresh heat, which was beginning to make the sand boil with watery mirages on the rolling dunes. The archaeologist's camel shook its head and twisted the long neck, its seemingly unattached jaws chewing grass in a slobbery circle. "It would reduce the chances of getting lost," the man added.

"Can't Lyddie be the leader?" Henry, desperate, searched for some way out of his predicament.

But Indiana shook his head. "Lyddie doesn't know anything about traveling through a desert, Dad. She's just our map through the temple."

A muffled voice interposed. "I am sorry to disagree, Professor Jones, but I think Indy is right." Sallah peeked around the backside of another close by camel, meeting the piercing stare of Henry with a feeble expression. Shrugging intuitively, he added, "I can put up with a little complaining if it means we will get to our destination safely."

"Two against one, Dad," Indiana debated, looking sideways at his father with slitted eyes. He rolled his hankie into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

Henry let his shoulders fall. "Oh, all right." Stuffing his chin into his chest, he turned, seizing a bag to strap on to a lone camel. He twisted around with a final comment: "Just remember, when that boy is driving you mad, that I was against this all along." 

His son's sympathetic laughter followed him to where he dragged the bag behind a tall, skinny mount. The water sloshed inside the egg-shaped container in his hands, dripping onto the sand and streaking it a muddy brown. Haphazardly, he strapped the large, leathery bottle to the animal's saddle, shouldering it up to where he could loosely tie the knots. 

Dhabu's broad, peculiar smile only widened.


	14. Betrayed

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  Lyddie and her friends run into some trouble in the desert…

**Chapter 14******

Swaying with the camel's strange gait, Lyddie rocked as the long-legged creature ran at a moderately fast jog behind Indiana Jones and in front of Sallah. The girl tilted perilously to the side with every unusual stride, bouncing between the steps. Her load of supplies rattled behind her in the chair-like saddle.

The desert stretched out from her in all directions, broken by a rare clump of prickly plants or pile of rocks. Beating down like a heated hammer, the sun created wavering currents of sizzling sand underneath the camels' two-toed steps. Lyddie was reluctant to keep her crude turban on, as it was making her hair damp with sweat, but the girl was more fearful of getting sunburned.

"We rest here, eh?" 

Lyddie looked over Indiana's shoulder to where Dhabu sat undersized on his slight, filthy-gray donkey. The boy pulled his stubby mount to a stop, jumping the short distance to the sandy ground.

Henry, before leaving, had marched up from his location at the back of the procession to his son and demanded, "Tell me, Junior… why doesn't that _pest_ have to ride on a camel? Does he have special privileges?" 

Indiana had answered his father's demandingly raised eyebrow by leaning down from his high saddle, the frustration finally starting to pull on his voice. "Dad, _I_ didn't pick what the kid was going to ride, okay? And I'm sure not gonna buy another camel for him, just to make you happy."

There had been a considering pause. "Well, do you think we could manage a trade?"

Indy had taken off with an exasperated sigh, swatting his camel's hindquarters with the loose end of the reins and leaving his annoyed father far behind. Now, in the middle of the desert, Lyddie waited as she slid from her mount, listening for the informative thump behind her that meant the senior Jones had reached the earth safely. Soon Henry passed her, shaking out sand from sleeves and pant legs. 

The six of them gathered at the front of the line as Sallah pulled a canvas tent from its fixed place on his camel, and then Henry, Indy, and Sallah set it up. It leaned toward the light, shading the travelers from the attacking rays of the midday sun. Alessa spread a woven rug over the sand and dropped down on top of it tiredly. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a plump ponytail, and it hung down her back like a piece of the sun itself. 

Riding staff in hand, Dhabu herded the camels together and, from the supply on the saddle of his donkey's back, gave them each a handful of grain mixed with dried clusters of grass. Henry kicked sand at them as he passed, mumbling to himself how stupid the animals were and what an annoying racket they made. 

Lyddie swung around the poles supporting the tent, the wall yielding underneath her hands as she fell next to Alessa. Enjoying the shade and roominess while she could, Lyddie leaned back and sighed. Soon there would be six people crowding underneath the little canopy, all wanting a corner of the soft blanket. The fringes of the coverlet were already packed with baskets, bags, and stacks of clothing or bedspreads.

She heard the crinkle of a paper bag. Looking over, Lyddie saw that Alessa was snacking on some parched strips of meat. Holding a strip out as one would hold a cigar, the woman offered some to the other girl. "It's camel. Kind of weird at first, but you'll get used to it."

"Thanks." Lydia accepted the leathery slice, unable to overlook Alessa's brightly colored nails, and began to gnaw on one end restlessly. 

The expedition had started out well enough, save for the minor bump they'd hit in Hebron with the camel dealer. Lyddie's sharp mind analyzed their progress; they were a good halfway into the trip, or at least a third. Although the girl did not want to think of what would happen once they reached their destination, she knew the hour was approaching fast.

Before long Henry stumbled underneath into the cool shade, his jacket removed and pale gray vest unbuttoned. His tie was jammed into a pant pocket, the dark fabric hanging limply. Whipping his hat off, he immediately helped himself to the camel meat.

"You girls had better not work yourselves too hard, now," he warned sarcastically, scrambling to a place behind Lyddie and dragging his case over to him. Lying down with his suitcase as a pillow, he bit off a small piece of the tough meat, chewing the gristly substance with a disgusted face. Sitting up, he exclaimed, "What on earth is this?"

"Camel," Lyddie and Alessa replied simultaneously. 

Henry's chewing slowed, and the frown deepened. "Will we never escape those cursed animals?" he mumbled, swallowing with a nauseated expression.

The girls laughed as the elder professor slithered to the border of the rug, lifted the canvas wall, and spat the piece of chewed meat onto the ground, covering the regurgitation with sand. "It's too salty anyway," Henry continued, looking around. "Where's the water?"

"Sallah would know," Lyddie responded, rolling over to her back, "but I thought you had the jug." 

"Or Dhabu," Alessa added. As the gray-bearded man stooped under the canopy, the blonde reminded in a cautioning tone, "Don't drink too much, 'kay? We need some too."

Henry waved his hand at her dismissively, making his way over the dunes to where the camels were tied down in a crude, uneven circle, chomping and rumbling gutturally. Looking around, Henry searched for Dhabu and was relieved when the boy was nowhere to be seen. He was probably down at the camp, bothering the others.

 His steps faltering through the sand, the elder Jones reached his camel and moved around to the other side where he had tied the rawhide water jug. The sun pounding fiercely upon his bare head, the professor was wishing he'd brought his hat. The camel twisted its slobbery visage around to look at him, showing its yellowish teeth through the split lip.

Shooing the doll-eyed face away, Henry pushed his glasses up and undid the cord holding the jug to its saddle. It slipped between his fingers, allowing the container to slide from his grip and roll to the ground with an ominous, hollow thump. 

Henry froze; he watched the bottle sway for a second and then go still. No water splashed inside.

For a moment the doctor panicked—but then realized that he must have simply tied his jug wrong and the water had leaked out. He plodded around to another camel and knocked on the leather container strapped there.

Nothing.

"Indiana!" the doctor shouted immediately, turning around to rush back to their camp. He stumbled, half-crawling, over the banks, bursts of sand thrown up at his clambering, maladroit feet. He threw open the flap to their tent, oblivious to the danger lurking inside.

He nearly ran into the barrel of a machine gun pointed at his stomach.


	15. Prisoners

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you so much to all who have reviewed! In this chapter, Lyddie and her friends find themselves prisoners in their own camp. The Nazis are along for the ride…

**Chapter 15**

The German smiled, maliciously digging the gun further into the old man's midsection. The professor winced, trying to step back, only to find another soldier at his rear.

"Oh, dear…" he whispered with a gulp. Slowly, his hands traveled into the air above his head in resignation.

A husky voice called out, traveling from the outside through the tent. "Captain?"

"I'm here," the soldier behind replied, informing the others of their location. "And I've captured Doctor Jones!"

The opposite side of the tent ripped up as another soldier peeked in with his head upside-down. He smiled, revealing a gap where a tooth used to be. "Good job," he congratulated. "I will notify the Colonel." A moment later, he had snapped the wall back down and begun a mad commotion, calling for Velheim.

Inside the tent, the elder doctor examined his predicament with agitated, raised eyebrows. He stuck his tongue on a back tooth with a sigh, looking back at the soldier behind him expectantly. "Well? Are you just going to kill us now, or drag us through the desert beforehand?"

The soldier looked at him blankly for a second, then scowled and gave the professor a hard jab with his gun in warning. Shrugging his shoulders edgily, Henry turned with a bad-tempered flinch, trying again to move away. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

The flapping canvas at the other side of the tent pulled back, admitting the other four members of his group.

The younger Jones glared from under the brim of his fedora, trudging into place beside his father with his eyes burning furiously. Two women and a slightly obese man followed, all of their wrists bleeding from the rope that dug and sliced into their skin, cutting off the flow to their hands. Countenances flushed and hair tousled, they appeared to have been wandering though the desert without food or water, rather than traveling for only half a day.

Indiana Jones could not meet Henry's gaze as the boy who'd helped the explorers in Hebron strode in, biting into a rather large, sugary-looking pastry. Strutting over to stand bravely next to a German soldier, Dhabu was not bound in any place and seemed not the least bit worried.

Henry pursed his lips shrewdly, raising a thick brow. Their stares linking together, both the Joneses shared a conflicting glance.

"I didn't know," Indy testified, shrugging dejectedly.

Henry rocked on his toes. "Uh-huh," he murmured with a sad exhale, looking away. "Yes, well… you must make errors to learn, I suppose."

"What?"

"Maybe you'll listen to me from now on, hmm?" His voice had lowered to a fuming hiss, edged with an evident "I told you so." Because he was slightly taller than his son, Henry was glad to look down at him; it was clear he had gained the upper hand of the argument.

"Don't start, Dad," Indy said warningly. "It's not like you knew he was a spy!"

"I said it was a bad idea—even if I'd told you he was a Nazi himself, you still would've brought him along!" His upraised hands fell to his waist, and he threw an arm in the boy's direction, gesturing.

"You didn't know he was a Nazi!" Indiana's tone was persistent, and soon it rose to meet the pitch of anger equal to his father's. "No one did!"

"I knew there was something odd about him! Why didn't you trust me?" The last few words had a remorseful lilt to them as Henry glared.

Indiana met his father's sudden remorse with a sharp remark. He lifted both his hands, because they were tied, and pointed with one, the other dangling lifelessly. "The last time I trusted you, I got in enough trouble to give me nightmares for a month!"

"Junior!"

His eyes an inferno of rage and aggravation, Indy shouted, "_Don't _call me Junior!"

By the time Colonel Hedrick Velheim stooped into the small tent, Henry and Indy were arguing heatedly, their voices loud and ear-piercing, in the corner of the enclosure with everyone watching on in interest. Dhabu sat chewing open-mouthed and fascinated, and the soldiers' guns were lowered to their thighs. Positioned in their rough line, the prisoners leaned forward to see to the end of the row where the father and son bickered openly.

"Enough!" the colonel ordered, his cry silencing all noises except the sound of the heavy material of the tent fluttering in the sweltering wind. His soldiers straightened and the two Joneses stopped in mid-sentence to discover the source of the voice.

"Here," Velheim called, and at once another soldier placed a foldout chair where he directed. Sitting down and placing his hat on a knee, the piercing blue eyes seemed to smile at the group. "It's a bad day to run out of water, don't you think?"

"No water?" Alessa exclaimed. A worried, astonished murmur traveled up and down the procession of captives. All except the elder professor fidgeted in their place or tugged on their bindings.

"No," Henry confirmed, "because a certain _boy_ dumped it all before we even left town." Threatening fire in his eyes, the professor glanced at his son meaningfully, and then knifed Dhabu with his stare.

Velheim laughed happily, his gray hair, streaked with white, glistening in the straining daylight. "Well done, Doctor Jones. You have discovered our friend."

At the colonel's beckoning, Dhabu promenaded over to sit on the German's lap, leaning back onto his medal-decorated chest comfortably. The prisoners looked upon the image with disgust.

Smiling with puckered-up, false politeness, Henry diverted his stare and nodded curtly. "It wasn't hard, I assure you."

"That's very good," the Nazi praised. "Your progress has satisfied me. Now…" Pushing the boy out of his lap, the colonel moved to stand rigidly in front of the mangy row. "See if you can decipher another puzzle: why do you think we're here?"

For a moment, the group stood there uncomprehendingly, squirming uneasily. But then Henry, with his usual mockery, piped up. "Well, it's very nice countryside—" He was interrupted by a sudden, alerting kick from his son.

"I'm afraid that will get you nowhere, Doctor Jones." Velheim folded his hands behind his back. "Does anyone else wish to try?"

"You came for me," Lyddie whispered hoarsely. She swallowed, raising her chin boldly. "You want the medallion."

"Ah, Miss Marques, you're correct. Though I am not surprised to find you in the company of these rebels, I wonder why you agree to help them." Stepping nearer to her, Velheim gazed downward unrelentingly. "And now, you will have to lead us all to the temple."

"And why would I do that?" Defiance tingled on her voice—it was the same defiance that had shown in her eyes the day she had stood on the execution platform.

"You are bartering for lives, here, madam. Do not be rash." Velheim fought the impulse to tap a black-booted foot, his clutched hands tightening. "Of course, we can just kill you all, right here and now, and save you some trouble—"

"Wait! Fair enough, I'll take you." Lyddie glanced over to Indiana. "I'll take you," she repeated, "just let them go—_with_ provisions and water." She met the colonel's gaze unflinchingly, holding her breath with foolish hope.

"What do you take me for?" The hope fluttered from her mind like a forgotten dream. "We either take them or kill them."

"No!" Lydia's outburst seemed to catch everyone by surprise, including herself. "Please, don't," she pleaded in a calmer voice. "They might be useful to you."

Alessa Harding's sea-green eyes met Indiana's blue-black ones desperately. Idealess, Sallah looked in their direction and opened his palms with an apologetic face. The archaeologist did not even try to see if his father had any ideas. Stomping his feet pensively, Indy drew in a calming breath.

"Precisely my thoughts, Miss Marques." Velheim started back over to the other side of the tent, making a point to pass by each member of the captured group. He then stood before his small troop, tightening the gloves on his hands. Lyddie could not imagine wearing gloves in the desert, in such heat. "We start out in half an hour."

Without even attempting to be gentle, a soldier grabbed Alessa, and another seized Indy. Brutally gripping her arms, Lyddie was apprehended next by the Nazi with a missing tooth. She tripped over a bump in the messed rug, and in the following moment was yanked back to her feet.

Pushed out into the blinding, intense sunlight, Henry realized he had left his hat, and started to turn back. Indiana stopped him with his shoulder. "No, Dad, here. I got it for you."

Wadded up inside his son's left hand was Henry's much loved, plaid hat, wrinkled and creased. Smoothing in onto his bald head, the professor smiled appreciatively at Indiana as a soldier came up and began to tie his hands. "Thank you, Junior."

Indy continued to march. "Don't mention it."

"What's going to happen to our things?"

The soldier finished binding him, and spun the professor around to follow after the others. Suddenly, a thought of pure fear struck his thoughts. "My research!" Henry shrieked.

Velheim, polished mahogany cane tucked under his arm, swung the professor's briefcase reassuringly. "No need to worry, Herr Jones. I will need to do some research of my own, naturally."

"Why, that two-faced, eccentric, fascist hoodlum—" Henry started toward the colonel, but was forced back by a pair of Germans.

The soldiers had swarmed upon the small camp like flies on rotting meat, surrounding the tent with a couple of jeeps and a truck. Looking awkward and ill-placed, about six Nazis stood in the sand with their guns held at ease, staying near to the vehicles where the steady stream of the air conditioning could relieve them.

Staggering up a hill of sand to the truck, Henry Jones could not help but mutter, "Look at this, Junior… they have trucks. Better than any drooling animal you eat at the dinner table."

Indiana chuckled, despite the circumstances. Climbing into the dark cargo area of the truck, Indy sat down on the narrow bench that lined the interior on either side. The walls were a thick, olive-green material roped down on the sides, shaped by a curved metal frame. It was much like a covered wagon, only a modern engine vibrated near the front. The ground, a cheap wooden floor covering, creaked dangerously under their feet.

Indiana watched from his uncomfortable position as the last soldier closed the flap at the back, where they had entered. He zipped it down, the line of light disappearing, and left the passengers in menacing darkness.


	16. Into the Temple

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Thank you to all who are reading and reviewing! The temple of Lyddie's family is found at last in this chapter, and the real quest to get the medallion begins…

**Chapter 16**

"It's too late to go in now. We need sleep."

Lydia Marques shivered in the desert chill, her hands trembling as she glanced up into the deep blue sky. She tried to shrink into the thin shirt covering her arms, pale with cold. Colonel Velheim glared down at her contemplatively, sighing as a list of decisions popped into his mind.

The half-moon rose larger than usual, casting milky light across the sand. A gentle wind wound around the three vehicles, the passengers rubbing their eyes sleepily. Shuddering beside Velheim's jeep, Lyddie waited for his verdict, trying to step away from the soldier behind her.

"Very well. We stay the night." The colonel called to his troops to disembark, and at once the soldiers hopped out of their cars and began to set up tents and build fires.

Dragging her back to the truck, Lyddie's soldier threw her into the cargo area with the others. She fell on top of Henry, who groaned and massaged his head. "Good grief, what now?"

"What's going on?" Indiana asked the girl.

Watching the entrance being closed off, Lydia pulled herself onto the narrow bench beside the archaeologist. "We're staying the night."

For a minute, silence fell upon the lightless interior. "Then why are we still in the truck?" Henry inquired grumpily. "We're not sleeping in here, I hope."

"Obviously."

Inside, the prisoners were nothing but faded ghosts, barely visible in the darkness. Everyone fidgeted, attempting to get comfortable on the hard, wooden ledges. Henry promptly fell back into his dreams, and Sallah barely stirred in the darkened corner beside the professor. Silence hung thickly in the muggy air as Lyddie hugged herself, shaking violently.

Pulling his fedora up from where he had tipped it over his eyes, Indiana glanced over. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

"Just cold," the girl assured. After a moment, there was a shifting beside her, and suddenly Indy's leather jacket fell over her trembling form. "Oh, no," she replied, holding it back out to him awkwardly in the darkness, "you need it more."

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. I've been in worse situations."

Lyddie leaned forward and pointed to the half-asleep Alessa. She whispered, "What about her? She might want it."

Indy grinned and draped an arm over his girlfriend's slender shoulders. In response, she drowsily rested against him and curled into his embrace. The archaeologist bowed close to the teenager's face and whispered back, "She'll be fine."

Hesitantly, Lyddie snuggled under the coat, pulling her knees under her chin. More shifting, then, "How are we going to get out of this?" she asked quietly.

Indiana propped his other arm on the seatback behind Lydia, stretching his back with a groan. "I don't know," he sighed. "But you know me—I'll think of something."

The girl swallowed, sniffing. "I'm sorry I got you into this."

"Nah," Indy replied reassuringly. His free limb came down around her comfortingly. "It's not your fault." Tipping his head down, he rested his ear on a shoulder that, for the night, would act as his pillow.

Surprised and pleased at his father-like behavior, Lyddie couldn't stop the delighted smile that spread across her face. "Night," she mumbled, nestling her forehead against her knees and tilting slightly into him.

"Goodnight, Lyd."

The desert's dunes rolled and swelled like a dusty ocean, stretching great, beige wings out in every direction. The glare off the sand was worse than it would have been off snow; the German soldiers' eyes ached from having to tolerate the ever-constant brilliance.

But Hedrick Velheim, his face hidden behind protective goggles, scarcely noticed the glare.

"We're almost there, I hope?"

The colonel directed the question to Lydia Marques, seated at his side in the jerking vehicle. She had been moved up to sit with him that morning so that navigating would be easier. Her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, she tucked some flyaway strands of brown hair behind her ears and looked quickly over at the gray-haired German. She swallowed and peered ahead, her expression neutral. "It's right over this dune," she replied unenthusiastically, diverting her gaze.

Surprised, Velheim glanced disbelievingly at the girl and then stood, supporting himself with a hand on the back of his leather seat. He looked over the driver's head and the dirty windshield, watching impatiently as the jeep pulled to the crest of the dune.

With the front end of the jeep dipping down madly, Velheim was thrown forward into the front passenger's seat, his hat angling over his face. Lyddie braced herself, clutching the seat restraints with her tied hands.

Over one hundred meters below them, the desert sands dropped into a rock-strewn gorge that was shrouded by gloom, hidden in mysterious shadows. The vehicle jolted down the steep sand of the dune and stopped on a narrow ridge, pulling up near the rim where darkness reached up like groping arms.

"We're going to have to walk from here," Lyddie declared, her slitted stare unflustered.

Shaken by the surprise of the sudden decline, Velheim nodded unsteadily. "That's fine," the colonel mumbled with a gulp. Placing the eagle-crested cap back onto his head from where it had fallen, Velheim turned and motioned the other two vehicles down.

When the pair of automobile's engines had shuddered to a stop, the other four prisoners were brought out, looking like they'd just awakened from a long nap. Henry pulled his spectacles from a pocket and put them on drowsily, examining the canyon with slight interest. "This is it, then?" he asked nonchalantly, walking to the lip of the shelf and turning back to look over his glasses at Lyddie.

Indy and Lydia joined him, tilting over to peer into the foggy depths of the chasm. "Yep," the girl responded, tossing her hair over a shoulder. "It'll be quite a climb down."

"For that reason, we should depart at once." Pulling his coat open, Velheim neatly tucked a small handgun into an inside pocket, meandering to the edge beside Henry. "If you want to stay behind, now is the perfect time to say so."

Indiana pointed straight at Alessa, his hand faintly white from the lack of blood flowing there. "You are, for sure."

Next to Sallah, leaning on the truck's huge tire, the woman's golden head shot up. Her eyes gleamed with emerald-glinted disbelief. "What?"

Striding over, the doctor took his girlfriend's hand in his and bent down earnestly. "This'll be dangerous, honey. I don't want you getting hurt." Indy's voice was soft and earnest. "I don't even know what's down there—what kind of traps or surprises this family had planned for invaders. Okay?"

"I'm not a baby," she countered. "You can't tell me what to do. I'm coming."

Indy hesitated, annoyed at her stubbornness. "You sound like my father," he complained. Then, with a sigh, "Alessa, please…"

Henry, standing nearby, interrupted. "I heard that, Junior. If she wants to come, let her. We're wasting time."

"But, Dad—"

"It's decided," Velheim concluded. Indy tried fervently to turn the situation around, but nothing helped. He looked from Henry to Alessa to Velheim, and back again, disgruntled.

Yelling with his voice echoing off the canyon walls, the colonel instructed one of his soldiers to stay and watch over their vehicles. Another German took a pocketknife and flipped out one of the blades, slicing through the prisoners' bindings so that they would be able to maneuver.

Lyddie walked along the edge, her arms stretched out like a balancing pole as she wobbled precariously with the others following close behind. Here, the dune's sand slid away and gave way to upward-sloping rock, a high wall of granite looming ahead with the shadows lingering threateningly in its corner. Footing was treacherous.

Shaking out his numb arms, Henry fell into careful step beside his son, Alessa, and Sallah. "Got any ideas?" the professor asked warily, his voice low and sounding more raspy than normal.

"Give me a little time, Dad," Indy growled back. "But I'm thinking that we can probably lose the five soldiers and Velheim on the way, and then make a run for it."

A previously concealed ladder, carved into the cliff face, appeared, and Lyddie had already acrobatically positioned herself and begun to climb down. The rungs were deep grooves chiseled into the rock, and, until now, had been hidden in the precipice's murky corner.

Following his son down the ladder, Henry was horror-stricken. "Junior, you aren't planning on _killing _these men?"

"Since when are you a Nazi sympathizer?" the archaeologist hissed back, moving his hand when the professor's foot came down into the next groove.

"I'm not, Junior, it's just…" He looked down disappointedly at his son nearby below. "When half of the FBI comes after you, what am I supposed to say?"

Indiana laughed quietly, ducking his head as sand rained from above. He swung himself onto a shelf, following a soldier who had a gun pointed at Lyddie. The girl's eyes seemed brighter than Indiana had ever seen them; more alert, more excited, perhaps.

They had traveled about seventy meters down the craggy precipice, and were now in a halfway open corridor, somewhat like a covered ledge. On one wall, vague figures were etched into the jagged granite. On the other side, there was nothing but a fatal drop into dark, deadly sands.

Brushing away the hanging cobwebs and dust, Indiana stooped under the low ceiling and squinted at the figures on the wall. They had deteriorated over the centuries and were now nothing more than unintelligible scribbles, but nonetheless the archaeologist's eyes shone with curiosity.

"So?" Velheim demanded anxiously as they stood, waiting, on the ledge. He pulled at his gloves. "What are we doing?"

"Just wait," Lyddie murmured, dropping down to her knees and peering keenly at the blank wall. "I'll find it."

Velheim and another soldier—in fact, it was the sergeant who had counseled the colonel the day of Lydia's rescue by the Joneses—exchanged an odd glance. The young sergeant mumbled a word under his breath, cursing the girl's stupidity. The soft muttering was received with a harsh _shh _from Velheim.

Henry bent over his son interestedly, who was still trying to interpret the hieroglyphs. "Can you read them, Junior?"

"No," Indy sighed, glancing over at the girl in the corner. "Hey, Lyddie, what are these symbols?"

"A warning," she replied, running her hands over the bare wall. "Someone told me what they mean a long time ago, but now I can't remember. I know there's something about never coming out of this temple alive."

Henry arched an alarmed eyebrow, studying the blurred figures and patting his son on the shoulder. "In that case, Indiana, I'm glad you can't read them."

Sallah groaned. "I should have stayed above."

"Sallah, there's nothing to worry about."

At that moment, the girl's hand found what it had been searching for, and a primitive button concealed underneath cobwebs retracted backward into the stone. In response, a square slab of rock at the center of the wall slid upward into a slot above, exposing a small, four-sided passage.

Lyddie let out a delighted "Aha!" and turned to her company. "It's a tight fit," she warned with a fleeting look at Sallah. "If you're claustrophobic, it'd be better if you stay behind." She stuck a leg into the dark opening; this revealed that the passage sloped downward for any length of time. "Whatever you do, stay behind me, and keep going straight."

She ducked into the shadows, a small cloud of dust rising in protest, the cobwebs stirring in her passing. The coal-black head of the sergeant shoved in front of the senior Jones, thrusting the professor's briefcase into his arms. The young German had been carrying it ever since they'd left the vehicles, and had no intention of keeping it any longer. Yanking his canvas cap down crossly, the man slid into the passage behind Lyddie.

Henry, relieved to have his research back, quickly unbuckled the case and peered inside. When his head came up again, the anger shone in his eyes like livid flames. "I can't believe it," he whispered. He knocked a fist against the side of the leather briefcase, pounding it in his rage. "I can't believe it!"

"What's the matter?" Indiana asked, swinging halfway into the sideways hole.

"I had two chocolate bars in here!" Henry cried furiously, jabbing a finger inside the mess of ruffled papers and weatherworn books. "And those stupid drones, they took them, the only things I had left from the entire vacation…"

With a shake of his head and a shared rolling of eyes with Alessa, Indiana Jones sighed and slipped down into the darkness, wondering what adventure waited inside the dismal shadows.


	17. The Importance of Guns

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **The trek through the temple of Lyddie's family begins.  Will everyone survive?  Read on.  :)

**Chapter 17******

Lydia Marques had expected to come here under much better circumstances. The surroundings put her in the worst mood she knew she possessed, resulting in short, bitten-off words and dry, pessimistic humor.

The girl crawled along the low tunnel with a Nazi's nose stuck into her back pocket. After him were a few other soldiers and Velheim, then the rest of her group. Lyddie wondered drearily how the others were doing. 

The encasing gloom was penetrated only by an occasional beam of light from above, the dust evident in each intense ray. Side passages, their destinations unknown, were ignored and passed by. Shuffling over pebbles and sand, the group made enough echoing noise to scare off animals hiding in the obscurity far ahead—the girl once had to yell for everyone to drop as an unusually large bat flapped overhead, an obsidian blur in the already dark passageway. 

"Bats," Henry had mumbled, with ready agreement from Alessa, "I almost hate those sickening creatures more than rats…"

Ducking under a thick, rope-like vine, Lyddie could not help but notice a painted figure on the wall; the colors were still bright, and the rock face it had been depicted on had not crumbled and flaked.

Lyddie expected this, and was not frightened by the vibrant yellow tongues of flame reaching up to the ceiling, enveloping a threatening lion's head whose natural smile warned of death. It was a very ancient mural, and there were several more like it, she knew. But the others in her party could not suppress their gasps of surprise.

"Your family was very talented, Lyddie," Henry smirked, barely able to look into the lion's shining ruby eyes as he crawled by. 

Lyddie only smiled a faint, sad smile, crawling over a large, collapsed boulder. She admired the doctor and his constant sarcasm.

"Look at this, Indy," Lyddie could hear Sallah saying in his thick voice. "Mr. Brody would've liked that, eh?"

"Yeah," came Indiana's dark reply, thick with memories of his old friend.

Behind her, the black-haired soldier's knee struck a jagged piece of rocky debris, sending a jolt of sharp pain up his leg. Falling on his elbows to support himself, the gun that he had been using to contain Lyddie was jarred loose from his hand. The weapon skidded down a slanting side shaft, coming to rest in a room far below, its landing reverberating up to the exasperated soldier.

Sighing in agitation, the sergeant started down the passage, putting pressure on the walls with his hands and feet so that he could make the trip at his own speed, instead of sliding down wildly. Wedged tightly, he inched further slowly.

"No! Stop him!" Lyddie cried, spinning around in the narrow corridor on her knees, even as the doomed soldier was fading into the shadows.

"Why?" Velheim, the next in line, returned calmly, sitting back on his rear with knees bent, using his ankles as a seat. "He's just getting his revolver."

Lyddie turned away, biting her lip. "He won't be back," she whispered.

"What are you worried about, Fräulein? He—"

Suddenly there was a yelp from the soldier as he lost his grip on the intentionally smooth walls, as Lyddie knew he would. Then the gears of a hidden trap abruptly went into motion, beginning their synchronized strategy. Closing her eyes against the echoes, she heard the expected whooshof several fast-spinning blades slicing through the air, and the startled scream of a man. The hollow thump of a lifeless body and the clang of metal against stone chased the wind up to where Lyddie had her face buried in her hands.

She knew she should be glad that they were rid of a hampering Nazi, that an escape would be that much easier without him, but she also knew that no one should meet a fate like his.

The temple immediately returned to its natural state of silence, forgetting soldier's death quicker than it had come. A gentle wind blew somewhere below, howling mournfully through the tunnels and passageways.

Velheim glowered, staring down the passage in dim-witted surprise. Sallah, behind him, put a hand to his face, touching the beard that grew around his gaping mouth. Alessa, unable to watch, had thrust her face into the shoulder of Indy's jacket. Shifting uncomfortably at the loss of a comrade, the remaining soldiers swallowed, questioning the safety of the temple. Lyddie could do nothing but look morosely at the stones in the ground through her fingers.

The young archaeologist was the first to speak, his fedora pushed back comically. "I guess we've figured out now that guns aren't that important," he said with a daring smile. 

"It would be wise to hold your comments," Velheim warned, sticking out his lower jaw and narrowing his eyes, "because the next time we need something brought back, Dr. Jones, you will be the one to retrieve it."

Thanks for reading; please review!


	18. Snakes

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters. The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures. No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Mwaha… what is an Indiana Jones story without snakes? Lyddie takes the group one step closer to the medallion, with a little help from Indy. :)

**Chapter 18**

When the group emerged from the low tunnel, knees aching and heads throbbing, they were surprised at the sudden openness of their surroundings. A large room of polished black marble sloped into a shadowy dome at the ceiling, ridged pillars lining each wall. Light filtered down from someplace above, slicing through the sizzling air. At the other side of the room, wide, carved gates led into another unknown area. A smaller doorway was directly to their left, enigmatic and dark.

"Another room?" Velheim snapped, annoyance pulling on his voice. He clamped both hands down onto his hips. "Miss Marques, I'm beginning to doubt your guidance."

"Let her alone, Velheim," Indiana shot back. "She knows what she's doing."

Lydia Marques smiled vaguely, her eyes following a meandering soldier. In the center of the room, a decorated ramp led up to a slightly higher level, hiding whatever may be on the lower opposite side. The soldier reached the top of the ramp and stopped short, taking a surprised step back. The girl knew that he would be going nowhere soon.

"Colonel—there are—there are snakes!" the soldier stammered.

"I don't understand," Velheim answered in a confused voice, unable to stop a frown that creased his features.

"Snakes!" the soldier yelled back, in an even more insistent tone.

The colonel's cool, sapphire eyes focused keenly on Lyddie. "You put _snakes _in here?" he inquired calmly.

"Snakes?" Indiana echoed, straightening noticeably. "_Snakes_?"

Simultaneously, the group moved up the ramp. From behind and below, it looked as if the incline led up to a smooth plane that you could walk across to get to the next room, but it was made to fool the eyes. About a meter from the end of the slanting path, the ground stopped abruptly and the sides plunged straight down.

Indiana's skin crawled underneath his jacket and long-sleeved shirt as the all-too-familiar sound of constant hissing filled his ears. Velheim took the flashlight offered to him by another soldier and shined the beam of light down into the pit.

Below them, over a hundred snakes glistened like gleaming ebony, writhing and entwining themselves under and over each other, looking like a three-year-old's attempt at weaving. The mess of coal-black, cordlike bodies thrashed in the sudden brightness, their angry, resounding hisses increasing in volume.

"Why is it always snakes?" Sallah sighed, taking his handkerchief from a pocket and wiping his dark brow tiredly.

Indiana gasped, his breath knotting in his throat, and he turned away with fearful eyes.

"Are you all right, Indy?" Alessa worried, cupping her hand at the back of his head in support.

The man nodded, still unable to speak.

As the group stood along the edge in a line, Henry could not keep his wonderings to himself. "I don't suppose we can jump?" he implied, frowning while his eyes searched for any protrusions in the ceiling.

Every person's stare turned toward the elderly professor. He felt the weight of their gazes resting on him and glanced up uneasily. Shrugging as nonchalantly as he could, he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Just a suggestion," he murmured.

"There's an easier way," Lyddie assured, turning and pointing out the side corridor they had passed while entering the room. "I'm going to go in there, and when a bridge starts emerging—see it, there, on the other side? That will start jutting out, and you need to run across, quickly. There's one on this side, too. Don't wait on me."

"Wait, Miss Marques," Velheim called, stopping Lyddie on her way down the ramp. He turned to the rest of the group behind him. "Doctor Jones?"

Henry and Indy shot each other a fearful glance. "What?" they both replied as one.

"Not you, you nitwit!" Velheim snapped vehemently at Henry. "Your son!"

The professor let his shoulders droop in relief, backing away. "Good luck, Junior," he bade.

The colonel ignored him and continued. "Since Herr Jones, here, seems to know so much more than the rest of us, why not let him go and activate the bridge? Let him prove his worth to us. Too much work for you, my dear," he added with a sidelong glance at Lyddie.

This raised Lyddie's eyebrows immediately. "Oh, really?" she returned.

"I've got a better idea," Indy retorted. "Why don't you? You haven't been doing much."

"Sadly, I can't," the colonel sighed, pulling dramatically at his gloves. "It's bad for my lungs. Of course, we could simply throw you all into this convenient pit, here, and just leave without the medallion. A lot of trouble to go to, though."

His rugged face darkening in a frown, Indiana blew out his breath loudly and stalked down the ramp. "The things I do just to get a bunch of old knickknacks," he grumbled. "I can't even take a vacation without nearly killing myself…" In moments, he had disappeared into the shadows of the side corridor, the amused laughter of Hedrick Velheim lingering in his ears.

The narrow hallway was dark and cramped, the spiderwebs that drooped from the ceiling moving with every breath Indiana Jones took. He slipped his lighter from a jacket pocket and flicked it on before venturing into the shadowy passage, not knowing what could possibly be prowling in the darkness ahead.

"How did I get myself into this mess?" he wondered to himself, picking away the cobwebs hanging from the rim of his fedora. He held his lighter in front of him like a weapon, pushing the curtains of spiderwebs to the side with his other hand.

Not very far into the hall, he noticed the traps immediately—two holes side by side in the ground, and another pair horizontal from each other in the walls. "Pressurized spikes," he said out loud. If he were to step on the holes, or the pressure plates in the ground below the horizontal openings that faced each other, long, sharp spikes would jut up instantly and run him through. He would die held high in the air like a trophy.

Purposefully avoiding the holes and stepping over the pressure plates, he found the end of the corridor at last. A large square button was enshrined inside of an elaborately ornamented niche, a crowned skull carved into the switch's face.

Looking around warily, Indy took a step forward. He peered into the shadows of the niche, looking for any hidden dangers. Shrugging, he reached in and pressed the rusty button, scraping chips of rock and dirt from the sides.

For a moment the walls trembled, but then Indy could hear grating machinery underneath him, and after that came Lyddie's voice. "Indy! Hurry, the bridge is timed!"

Indiana turned, removing his hand from the button's engraved surface. He remembered the traps and was about to step delicately over them, but suddenly felt a twisting weight on his arm.

Glancing down, Indiana was extremely shocked to see a snake, coiled around his limb like a thick black licorice string. Its mouth was opened wide, a pink spot in the gloom, its pointed fangs ready.

Indiana screamed and shook his arm wildly, dropping his lighter. It clattered onto the stone and skittered into a corner, its flame still burning. The snake hissed angrily, its diamond-shaped head waving up and down in Indy's dreadful panic.

The creature finally loosened its grip, and the young archaeologist tossed it into the niche where it had come from. Trembling, Indiana stumbled backward and tripped over a obtruding rock, falling back…

… right onto the pressure plates.

A spear shot out from the horizontal hole, skimming over his knees, taking a slice of fabric from his pants. Shooting upward underneath his sprawling arms, the two spears in the ground whooshed up, missing his underarms by a mere centimeter.

Swallowing shakily at his brush with death, Indy turned over and scrambled to his feet, unheeding of the cobwebs draping themselves over him as he rushed fearfully out of the corridor.

"Indy! Hurry!" Sallah called, already across the bridge and waiting at the gate on the other side, arms outstretched. Indy sprinted hard, a hand planted tightly on his fedora. Velheim was yelling also, but definitely not at the archaeologist.

An unfortunate soldier had somehow gotten his shoelace stuck into the narrow slot the retracting bridge was sliding back into, and was now tugging violently on his shoe. Realizing that his effort was in vain, he frantically began to yank his foot free, having to undo the laces of his boot before even attempting to get his leg out.

The other half of the bridge had already moved almost completely back into its opening; only a couple of meters remained, even though they would soon be gone. Indy had no wish to return to the corridor—and the vile snake that had attacked him—so he took a running jump, gathering his speed and throwing himself across the wide pit filled with the slithering reptiles.

He landed with a grunt, his hands sliding on the sandy rock. His legs swung floppily, fumbling for a grip to push him up to safety over the snakes that waited eagerly. Sallah and Henry rushed to him, grabbing his hands just as the last of the bridge vanished into the wall. Indy yelped, his eyes widening when he felt himself slip down further into the abyss filled with the terrifying creatures. The two men held him fast, groaning and pulling him slowly up onto the ledge.

The soldier on the other side was not so fortunate. The bridge slid out from his feet and he fell, suspended over the hungry snakes by the thin shoelace that he had not been able to get free. Flailing and screaming, his foot slipped out of the untied boot and he plunged into the pit. His rifle tumbled in after him, rattling against the walls but landing softly amid the coiled beasts.

Indiana turned his face away from the image of snakes surging upon the poor man and collapsed to the ground, gasping. He pushed his fedora to the back of his head, wiping his sweating forehead with the back of a hand. Alessa and Lyddie knelt beside him, and Sallah heaved a great, "Well done, Indy."

His eyes intense, framed by dark eyebrows, Indy looked up at the speechless colonel. "That good enough for you, Velheim?"

Velheim, fumbling for the words he had dropped, could say nothing, and turned away abashedly to consult his remaining three soldiers.


	19. Loss

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **At last, after months of searching, Indiana and the others reach the medallion that Lyddie's family endeavored to protect.  :)  Get your thud-pillows ready.

Chapter 19

The gates that Lyddie shouldered open rasped inward with several scraping complaints, dust falling in clumps onto the ground. Indiana had helped her open the gateway and now shook dirt from the rim of his fedora, inhaling unexpectedly as if to sneeze. The sneeze was suppressed, though, and it soon melted into a mesmerized gasp.

Several timeworn steps led down into a room with walls of strange, golden granite that was dotted with ruby specks. Ribbed arches supported the walls and ceiling, and clear rays of light shot brilliance onto the stone-tiled floor. The back of the room was not far from where they stood at the top of the stairs; five arches leaned into the ceiling, looming overhead, before a smooth barrier of rock could cut off the area.

 At both sides of the first upholding arch was a statue—one of a lion and another of the cross with Christ dying upon it. Basins of water rested on pillars before the statues, inviting the weary group to drink.

"At last!" Henry wheezed, rushing toward the basins eagerly.

"Dad, stop!" Indiana cried. He remembered an earlier occurrence with water, in another temple, not long ago. As he jogged down to his father, Indy could vividly see Walter Donovan drinking from a golden goblet, studded with jewels, thinking that he would gain the legendary gift of eternal life. In selecting the incorrect "holy" grail, Donovan had aged to an old man in seconds, dying meager moments after the cup had touched his lips.

"Let me go, Junior!" Henry ordered. "I'm thirsty!"

"That water has been in here for centuries," Indiana pointed out, towing his father back up the steps to where the others rested. Velheim and Lyddie were standing in one corner—the colonel was gesturing madly but still holding his voice under control. The three soldiers were marveling at the decorated pillars on either side of the newly opened gate, trying to read the ghastly-looking symbols carved onto the round surfaces.

"He is right, Dr. Jones," Sallah agreed, sitting down at the foot of one pillar.  "It is probably stale from years of sitting here."

"I'd rather drink stale water than none at all," the professor muttered, tossing his briefcase onto a stair before plopping down on top of it. He buried his face into the arms that rested atop his knees. "I have not had water in hours."

Moving to sit next to his dark-skinned friend, Indiana shook out dirt and pebbles from his leather jacket. "None of us have," he sighed, licking his dry lips.

In the corner, Velheim's voice finally rose to show the anger and annoyance he was trying to contain. "I must be back in Germany before the New Year's, Miss Marques. At this rate, it will be Christmas before we finally reach the medallion."

The girl looked up with deep, perceptive eyes. "But we're here."

The colonel frowned, faintly disturbed, turning and strutting down the steps. He stopped before the first arch, meaningfully staring at the blank wall that loomed just over ten meters in front of him. Spreading his arms to encompass the whole room, he scoffed, "I see no medallion!" 

"Go closer," Lyddie suggested quietly, moving no more than a rock would.

"What?" The Nazi turned and fixed his prisoner with a narrow-eyed glare. 

"Closer," the girl urged. The other members of the group looked confusedly between her and Velheim. The Germans did not understand Lydia's insisting English, but they could sense the tension, and their fingers coiled reflexively around their guns.

Turning and looking about for signs of a trap, Velheim's face remained pressed in a frown. His eyes traveled to the snarling statue of a lion at his left, his blue gaze observing the smooth golden curves of its mane and the pointed teeth visible inside its open mouth. The crimson eyes seemed to glint. 

Velheim straightened and took a breath, stepping onto the tiled section of the room before his mind had a chance to tell him that he was doing something suicidal. His booted feet rattled on the stones, the only sound in the hollow quiet of the menacing temple.

There was a sudden low, throaty grumbling underneath the ground. Small shards of rock and short piles of dirt trembled and shifted, moving for the first time in many years. The German immediately looked fearfully to the lion figurine behind him, but of course it was still, and more stoic than ever. Lyddie caught his glare. 

"You're not close enough," she clicked, shaking her auburn head briefly with the forced patience a teacher had to hold with a student that was not learning quickly. "A moment ago you were scolding my slothfulness. Who is the sloth, now?"

Velheim stiffened in obvious anger, and the color flushed from his cheeks. He could deal with her impertinent boldness later, he decided huffily. Taking a long, showy stride farther into the tiled area, he was almost not surprised to hear the rumbling underneath him grow louder. The floor a few meters ahead of him seemed to alter and the tiles began to grind roughly against each other.

Gawking in wonder, Velheim watched as the floor purposefully collapsed, forming a stairway that led down and under the fake wall at the end of the room. The rows of tiling had fallen into carefully constructed steps that directed you downward and then up again into another room. They would rise again to form a seemingly meaningless decoration in the floor. The colonel, impressed by the ingenuity of Lyddie's family, shot an approving grin at the rest of his troupe. "Good," he muttered, and then motioned for the others to follow.

"Why'd you tell him, Lyd?" Indiana whispered to Lydia, careful to not draw attention to the secret conversation. Henry, Alessa, and Sallah tramped in front of the conspiring pair, trailing the neglectful soldiers and Velheim. They all hopped down the steps, excitement building despite the dreadful situation of being held in the shadow of Nazis.

Lyddie knew she would be called to the front soon to lead everyone, so she hissed back quickly, "How can I not? They've got the guns." Regarding her friend shrewdly just as Velheim called her name, she added, "I could use some help in thinking up an escape plan."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Indy muttered in reply.

The tunnel underneath the false barrier was longer than Indiana had expected it to be, and darker. Sounds echoed off the painted walls, allowing every minute scrape of a boot or altering of a gun to be heard. Windswept sand had piled up in corners, blown by occasional currents of air that breathed in from the room ahead.

"We're almost there," the archaeologist heard Lyddie report to her Nazi captor. The rest of her words were brushed away by a sudden draft of cool wind.

_Good_, Indy thought, shivering slightly in the low temperature. _It's chilly in here._

Suddenly a little streak of brown scampered down the tunnel, flashing by the group in a flurry of clawing feet and squeaky cries. The Nazis and Lyddie looked after it in short-lived curiosity, and then continued, pattering up the steps into the last and long-awaited room. But Henry, struck with terror, reacted immediately by throwing his arms out and pinning both Sallah and Indy against the wall on either side of himself. Alessa just barely escaped his restraining arms, and jumped away in confusion. Henry's face pale, he looked to his son. "Rats," he breathed.

"Is that what that was?" Indy looked down the tunnel to where the animal had dashed. He pried his father's hand from across his chest and smiled. "They won't hurt you, Dad. It's—"

"Oh, dear God!" Henry unconsciously begged, his gaze turned upwards to the heavens, his eyebrows up and eyes wide. "There went another one!"

The creature disappeared with an apologetic peep. Clutching his case to his chest as if it would somehow protect him, the elderly professor gulped, his dark eyes still as big as saucers. 

"Let us get out of the tunnel, Professor Jones," Sallah consoled. "Then we will—"

"If you don't mind," Henry interrupted, "I'll just head back up and wait with the trucks…"

"Come on, Henry," Alessa urged. "It was just a harmless rat."

"Harmless!" the man huffed, turning meaningfully away.

Indiana caught his father before he could escape up the staircase. "No way, Dad. We aren't leaving without Lyddie. Come on."

Bearing this in mind, Henry relented and marched dutifully up the steps after his son. Pausing at the head of the stairs, the foursome was surprised to be met with several unexpected tendrils of wind that slapped them in the face upon entering. The harsh breeze played with Indy's fedora and yanked Henry's bucket-hat right from his head.

It was, in addition, blindingly bright; everything around them was bathed in a fierce, white-blue luminance, touching the gold walls and painting them a soft green. 

But all of this happened in less than a second, and a moment after it had started the hurricane and dazzling radiance drew back and disappeared, as if they had only been inspecting the new intruders. Blinking with big, white splotches before their eyes, the new entrees stood sightless on the stair for a moment.

The Germans and Lyddie, already positioned off to the right, took the light-shielding arms and hands down from their faces. The wind had pulled one soldier from his feet, throwing him back against the wall where a comrade was helping him up. A crimson strip of cloth, embroidered with the swastika, hung limply from a thread on his right sleeve. In a final burst of air, a gale ripped the band from the soldier's arm and flung it into a dusty corner.

"A most remarkable place," Velheim was commending as the pair of Joneses, Alessa, and Sallah wobbled over. Waving out a handkerchief, the colonel wiped dust from his eyes and sniffed appraisingly, nodding all the while.

The same statues and basins from the room before were there to greet them, and the walls were still a gold that was sprinkled lightly with cherry flecks. Beyond the sculptures was a hall; it was narrower than the foyer-like place they were in now, and had a curving ceiling. Bending marble columns, which fanned out in flower-like petals at the heads, supported it.

And there, in a tall, half-tube room at the end of the hall, was the medallion. Suspended, placed into a groove in the stone, it waited on a twisting pillar, its golden chain slowly curling and uncurling in an unseen current of air that wafted from the pillar. It shone with a frightening, white-hot light that made it almost unbearable to look at. Even the lion figurine, which sat immersed in gold glory and stared with scarlet eyes, seemed to pale in comparison. The heartrending statue of the cross, made of pale blue granite, only looked sadder and more despairing. Spiderwebs drifted in the wafts of air.

Although the artifact was down a hallway in another room, every exquisite gold-and-silver detail was clearly seen by everyone. A small, discreet jewel was set in the center of the winged circle, surrounded by vine-like swirls of precious metal.

As soon as Velheim spoke, breaking the awe-stricken moment, Indiana knew that the colonel had remained untouched by sacred wind and light. "Are you going to get it, or not, Miss Marques?"

"I've already told you, I can't." 

"And I ask you again—why not?" The Nazi's hand lingered dangerously close to the handgun concealed inside one jacket pocket, his pale azure scowl tightening with impatience.

Lyddie noted this with a mindful eye. "The tiles are made in a diamond and square pattern, with mostly squares," Lydia pointed out, walking to the entrance of the hallway that led to her family's treasure. Her eyes softened for a moment as they caught a flicker of gold. She hesitated. "You have to step on only the diamonds. My… legs aren't long enough to reach every diamond tile." She blushed momentarily. "I step on a square, and we all die."

Velheim joined her at the edge, where the floor covering changed into the pattern she explained. Deep yellow highlights splashed across his face from the coaxing medallion as he examined the arrangement. The diamond-shaped tiles were each over a meter apart. "Are there any traps after passing through the hall?"

The girl inhaled briskly. "In the other room? I don't know. I've led you this far, I can't anymore."

Velheim smiled slightly as the girl moved to stand near Indiana Jones. The archaeologist and his motley group was standing underneath the statue of a dying Jesus, with Henry Jones looking longingly at the bowl of water at the sculpture's feet from where he had fallen in a heap.

Staring down the brightened corridor determinedly, the colonel allowed his feral grin to widen. "True enough, Lydia Marques." His thick, accented voice sounded even more flowing and vile with the wickedness that entwined itself within the words. "You realize, though," he said softly, his smile evident, "that I plan to leave here with no American witnesses?"

Terror widened the eyes of Lyddie as she glanced anxiously at Indiana. The guilt that flashed through the sapphire irises was palpable; her fear was not for herself but for the archaeologist, his father, and two friends. In dealing with the Nazi colonel and his troops, Lyddie had found that Velheim was one who meant his words without a second thought or sense of regret. It was as true now as it would ever be. 

This thought, passing briefly through Lydia's mind, was accentuated by the sudden, locking click of a revolver.

Velheim spun, his arm outstretched with the shiny firearm in his gloved hand, the black surface catching fleeting golden shimmers. His eyes shone with malice through glaring slits. At the same time, Lyddie took a step backward, distress registering unmistakably on her young face as a deep, black gun barrel came to bear on her midsection. 

"Lyddie!" Just as the cry escaped his lips, Indiana felt the helplessness encompass his broad-shouldered form. Hearing the bullet explode from the gun's innards, he froze, his hazel eyes hardening in rage and extreme alarm. Sallah appeared at his shoulder with a quick, startled breath. His hand flew up to cover the mouth that hung on a limp jawbone. Henry, behind, shuffled as quickly as he could to his feet, and Alessa's eyes widened in shock.

The shell collided with the teenager's middle in less than a second, throwing her back yet another pace. She looked up, thunderstruck and shocked, her face paling and bringing out the blue eyes that shone with unshed tears of pain. Quivering, her arms managed to coil around her own stomach in agony. She staggered sideways, staring at the puddle of blood that had begun soak through her clothing and pool between her fingers.

When her feet rapidly relented to the growing weight of her upper body, Indiana had his arms wrapped around her in support. "Lyddie," he was whispering breathlessly.

"Indy, please," she gasped in return. Nothing but anguish registered in her shining eyes.

He gently but urgently guided her to the ground where she could lie and knelt alongside her, numbness scattering needles across his skin. His ears and cheeks grew warm with fear and horror. Unable to think, he bit his lip, looked around the room for assistance, and shook his head with a short, panicked exhaling of breath. His hands had already become stained and sticky with the girl's blood, but he hardly noticed as he fumbled with the buttons on her shirt.

"Oh, Indy!" Alessa sobbed. It appeared that she was trying to shove her whole fist into her mouth, but only got halfway there. The woman could not stop shaking her head. 

Sallah slid hurriedly into place beside Indiana, helping him pull up Lyddie's blouse halfway to reveal a nasty bullet hole directly above her right hipbone.

Indiana put a hand to his head, ripping his fedora from where it perched. Tears surged, unbidden, to his eyes. What could he do?

Beyond shock, Henry walked forward a step, looking down at the felled girl. "Oh, God," he prayed, "no…" Suddenly, he whirled on Velheim, who was idly polishing his gun as if he nothing had happened. "You shot her." The gravelly accusation was low with anger.

"Excuse me?" Velheim glanced up but didn't interrupt his careful rubdown of the gun.

"You shot her!" The professor's voice unexpectedly rose to a furious bellow that echoed within the chamber, making the trio of soldiers start at his roared words. The senior Jones threw a gesturing hand down in Lyddie's direction. "A child, an unarmed girl, you _shot_ her!"

Henry found himself swiftly staring down the deep hole of a gun's barrel. "Would you like to join her, Professor Jones?" the Nazi colonel spat, ready to pull the trigger. "It would not be difficult to arrange."

Henry Jones swallowed, but said nothing. Velheim stared fiercely at him, his jaw stiff, and then, with a final, withering glance, slowly lowered the weapon and began to clean it again.

Henry turned and sighed in relief. He padded to where his three friends worked and slowly stooped on the other side of the girl. "Is she all right, Junior?" he inquired quietly.

"I… I don't know," Indiana sputtered. He wiped his forehead with a bloodied hand and then cupped it over his mouth, the red fluid streaking his skin. He had taken Sallah's handkerchief and pressed it over the wound, trying to stop the gushing blood. Lyddie was grimacing with every breath she took, frailly attempting to suppress tears that leaked over her cheeks.

"What can we do?" Henry murmured, his gaze staring unfocusedly at the girl. 

"I'm not sure that… that there's anything we can do, Dad."

Hedrick Velheim, placing his booted foot on the first diamond tile, only laughed cheerfully when the whispered words reached his ears.

Sorry!  My muse wouldn't have it any other way.  Thanks for reading — please review!


	20. Reaching the Medallion

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **Please **realize**—I wrote this several years ago, and I am not going to change any of it now.  I apologize if it comes off as "cheap" or "cheesy" to you.  :)  This is the way it's going to stay, and I'm sorry if you don't like it.

…  Velheim reaches the medallion, but will he and the others get out of the temple alive?

**Chapter 20******

The colonel hopped from the last tile with a thankful sigh, stretching out his aching back, groaning painfully. He had been anxious to reach the treasure he'd been pursuing for months, but he knew better than to let his zeal get the best of him. He had attacked the tiles one at a time, mapping out a route carefully, judging the distance separating each tile with wary observation.

Glancing back, he saw his last three soldiers standing at attention before the entrance to the hall. The Joneses and their chubby friend were hunched over Lydia Marques, trying feverishly to keep the last of her life from slipping between their fingers. The girlfriend stood nearby, wanting to help but unable to.

Velheim shook his gray head, stifling a laugh. They would all be dead soon, so why where they wasting their time? He adjusted the gun in his inner jacket pocket, knowing he would have to use it again before long.

The medallion balanced on a short, winding pillar that was set with a large, green gemstone, the golden chain sparkling fiercely. The Nazi paused admiringly before the magnificent relic, rainbows of sapphire and yellow dancing on his hard face. A beam of mellow emerald radiance shot up from the pillar and the stone placed within it, sparkling with gold dust as it faded out near the top. The medallion rested comfortably in the shaft of light, lying in the granite that had been molded so that it could stay in place as effortlessly as possible. Its single jewel stared relentlessly at the German colonel from its seat amid swirling metal. 

Shaking his head out of his stupor, Velheim swallowed, removed his gloves, and began to reach for the medallion, turning his head slightly, guardedly. When his hand cut through the green ray, warm air brushed against his skin. A spark of jade ignited from the medallion and flashed over his knuckles. Literally shocked, Velheim reflexively jerked his hand back, flinching. "Wretched thing," he swore, running a finger over the burn. Frowning firmly in resolve, he quickly snatched the medallion from its roost without thinking. The light of the stone in the pillar automatically flickered and died, and the beam that had held the medallion stationary faded away. In the pillar, Velheim could see a perfect imprint where the medallion had once sat. 

The treasure felt weightless in his hand, shimmering a faint silvery-blue. Smiling triumphantly, Velheim waved the prize at his soldiers, the long, small-linked chain dangling and flailing against his arm. They cheered and whistled exultantly, brandishing their rifles like celebration banners. Inwardly, they were only glad that they were finally going to get out of the blasted temple where two of their own had been killed.

Velheim pocketed the medallion, the gold warming the fabric of his jacket. More slowly than before, he began to dance cautiously back down the hall, a grin cocked crookedly on his face. It amused him to think that he held God within his right breast pocket. 

But still, there was some foreboding feeling tugging on the fringes of Velheim's consciousness, something that he could not dispel. He leaped to the closest tile, and was rapidly jerked into the present when his feet faltered, the result of not keeping his mind on the matter at hand. "Clumsy old fool," he chastised himself, cursing all three of his worst qualities.

When he reached the entrance hall again, his soldiers rushed over to admire the amulet that he drew from his pocket, the chain chinking quietly. He cupped it gently in the palm of one hand, holding the chain in the other like a trailing robe. Surrounded by three men, Velheim was unable to go farther than the statues.

Kneeling on the ground, Indiana Jones stared hatefully at the group, but could not keep the interest from burning on his features. Angrily, he was about to rise and march over to Velheim, demanding to see the artifact, when Lyddie's hand clamped firmly on his arm with surprising force. She grimaced and shook her head. "No," she whispered, her voice dry and raspy.

Indiana looked from her to Henry, who was staring hard at the group standing beside the giant lion sculpture. Suddenly his eyes widened, and he groped for his son's arm as well. "Good Lord, Junior, get down!"

"What? What's wrong?"

Confused, Indiana promptly fell back to his knees and turned around just as Velheim meandered past the statues, smiling dumbly down at the trophy in his hands. Sallah, beside Indiana, gasped and managed to whisper, "By the sands…"

For a moment, the young archaeologist didn't see what had his friends so frightened, but then a deafening roar broke the heavy, dust-covered silence of the temple, and Indiana could see the lion statuette's eyes glinting a fiery red.

A second too late, Alessa pointed out, "The lion, Indy… what's doing that?"

An ominous, howling wind traveled down the hallway from where the medallion had once rested, a faint blue mist swirling within the breeze. A moment later, everything became more silent than it had been before. No one moved, and each of them held their breaths in awe and dismay. 

Hanging stiffly in the lingering, tense hush, they could hear a hoarse rumble grow from deep underneath them. Velheim jumped in alarm and stumbled around on a heel, his terror-enlarged eyes occupying half of his face. Had he not been so frightened himself, Indiana would have thought the colonel looked side-splittingly funny—but the situation was not so.

The sturdy frame of the building was suddenly trembling. Sand and pebbles showered down, and the gigantic statue of the proud cat swayed dangerously, the pedestal producing a deafening _screech _as it ground against the floor. The Nazis' discarded backpacks and equipment shuddered and fell from where they had been placed on a ledge, metal containers and pencils rolling from the unbuckled openings.

Glowing with a sudden, blinding blaze, the medallion in Velheim's white-knuckled grip shone right through his hand and the leather glove he wore, the skeleton of his fingers showing a darker, grayish-blue color against the burning luminosity. It washed his face in such purely intense light that the only thing one could see were his eyes, flashing with a blue that seemed dull next to the medallion. He squinted and shielded his face, holding the relic away from him, not quite ready to let go of it.

Another gale whooshed through the room, and Velheim suddenly jumped, gave a yelp, and dropped the medallion, shaking out and blowing on his scalded hand. He tried futilely to calm the stinging pain that pulsed up his arm. The artifact jangled on the ground and rolled a short distance, its fierce jewel glaring upwards. The wind continued, though somewhat less angrily, touching everyone's hair and flapping the pages in a soldier's notebook noisily. Tinted a slight, dreary gray, traced with blue at the swirling edges, it howled through the hall like a cyclone.

A new roar shook the chamber. Velheim, his burnt palm still held up to his mouth where he had been breathing on the injury, turned slowly with wide eyes, not sure if he wanted to see what waited for him now.

The grayish wind churned and bulged, growing bigger and more muscled until the colonel had to lean back to stare into the slowly forming face of a massive lion, its misty eyes burning in a red-orange inferno. Its mane wisped about it like the remnants of a ghost, its smoldering glower fixed on the Nazi with bland interest. Settling on the ground with unnatural elegance, one large, lethal-looking paw before the other, it showed its teeth tauntingly.

Velheim's hand fell lifelessly from his mouth, the only movement he could make since fear had frozen him in place. He stared up, unable to move or breathe or think, looking rather like a child who had just been badly beaten in a fight, and was about to receive another lashing. His hair was messed, his uniform torn, and the shiny leather boots he wore were scuffed and marked by deep cuts. The colonel was beginning to think that maybe his chances of returning to Germany were not as high as he had expected.

The only sound was one of his soldiers, who, as soon as he saw the vaporous animal, screamed and bolted down the stairs for the safety of outside. He didn't notice the ghostly wind that followed him.

Her head lying in Henry Jones's lap, Lyddie swallowed laboriously and blinked, staring up but not really at anything in particular. "Farewell, Colonel," she whispered.

Henry frowned. His head came up just in time to see the lion move forward a long, graceful step, its snarling growl echoing in the chamber like menacing laughter. Then it leaped, and Velheim could only stand there, the cry lost on his petrified lips.

Thanks for reading — please review!


	21. Cruel Desert

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **I would like to thank all of the readers who have stayed with me and reviewed  :)  You all are great. 

A soldier tries to escape the temple, but he should know better…

**Chapter 21******

_Run_.

It was the only thought that the fleeing soldier could grasp as he ducked under the ledge at the temple's entrance, flinging himself out onto the chiseled-in ladder that rested on the main cliff's broad, rocky face. He nearly forgot to reach for the grooves in the granite, and, remembering in mid-air, he slipped his fingers into the sandy ruts. Pulling himself up against the cool wall, he caught his breath. Above, he could hear the other soldier, who was guarding the vehicles, crooning at the top of his lungs a song they had heard on the radio during their trek over the desert.

Panting loudly, the soldier rolled his eyes and grimaced upward as his colleague hit a particularly sour note. The German's journey through the temple had been an impulsive one, but he'd run so fast, his mind encased in such fear, that he had not had time to consider his actions. Now, he barely remembered stumbling up the steps of the golden hallway, or climbing precariously along the edges surrounding the snake pit where another of his own lay in the dark shadows.

The man paled. Had he been so possessed that he hadn't even considered his fatal actions? Now that he gave the matter deep thought, he didn't even recollect crawling down the trap-littered tunnel. 

He put a hand to his head, which was covered in a mop of cropped blonde hair that was just beginning to turn gray. If he had gone down the wrong passage…

Another glass-shattering howl of song from the ridge overhead jerked the Nazi to the present, where he knew he was well away from danger. Tidying himself as well as one could while hanging from the side of a cliff, he advanced to the top of the ladder and slid, in a sitting position, down the steep, pebbly slope to where the guard wailed tunelessly into the cloudless blue sky. 

When the younger Nazi caught sight of the elder approaching him, he blushed furiously and snapped his gun back in place. He had been using it as a golf club, hitting wads of paper over the edge of the cliff. "Commander Rubrick," he stuttered in German, straightening, ready for a lengthy scolding. His cheeks had blossomed into crimson flowers. 

"Never mind, Alberne," Rubrick waved away quickly, marching right past his confused subordinate to the half-circle of vehicles. "Get one of these started," he snapped, squinting and glancing nervously back down into the ravine.

Alberne hesitated. "Where are the others, sir?" he inquired stupidly, the grip on his gun slipping as he relaxed somewhat. He wondered what could make any Nazi brush aside a chance to administer punishment.

"There are no others!" The man barked in return. "They're dead." He gestured violently with a bloodied hand; he had cut it several times while climbing and crawling through the temple. "Now, come on! You may stay if you wish, but give me the keys at least!"

The young, blonde-haired man shouldered his rifle and scuttled over the sand to one of the jeeps. He fumbled with the keys. "But the colonel, sir, how—"

"If we ever get the jeep started," bellowed Rubrick, "I will tell you what happened!" He clasped his hands at the small of his back, bouncing slightly in impatience.

Alberne plopped into the driver's seat of the vehicle and jangled the key into the ignition, and soon the engine was purring comfortingly under his feet. He slipped out of the car and pushed the door in, a tinny thump echoing off the canyon walls.

"There you are, sir," began the soldier, but Rubrick was raising a hand, his back turned as he listened carefully. His eyes traveled up and down the cliffs' faces, down the length of the precipice, and to the abandoned ladder. 

"Turn that off!" he shouted urgently, jabbing a quick finger at the jeep. "Quickly!"

"But, sir!" his cohort complained. Exasperated, Alberne dragged himself back to the car and yanked out the key, ready to demand what was going on.

But then he noticed—the ground was trembling, and was most clearly seen on the slope leading up to the ladder, where pebbles and rocks were shifting and jumping as if they were alive. Slowly, the bizarre earthquake strengthened and sand was now leaping into piles, covering the bewildered Nazis in dust, and streaming over the overhang's edge in a grainy waterfall.

Blue smoke erupted from the ground behind them and their single jeep, shooting up grime in a strange-looking geyser of brown and navy. The blast had caused a giant rupture in the earth, which was quickly growing into a widening crack. Sand leaked down into the fissure. The soldiers' vehicle that had, just a few seconds ago, been sitting atop solid ground teetered unsteadily, half of it hanging unsupported into the crack. The back wheels revolved uselessly in the air. 

The pair of Nazis shared a glance that clearly expressed their present thoughts. Neither of them knew what was going on, but Alberne was sure it had to be Rubrick's fault.

Narrowing his eyes against the stinging blasts of sand, the boyish-looking soldier stared, rebuking, up into his commander's hard face. "So this is what you were running from," he sneered. 

Rubrick only blinked.

The land they had been positioned on had moved far from the main outcropping, leaning away, a mere pillar from what it had once been, and the men were trapped. The jeep wavered and fell, its metal frame groaning as it crashed into the darkest shadows of the gorge far below. Then a final whirlwind swirled around the two Germans, and the earth shook one last time in peculiar fury. Screaming and stumbling, Rubrick and Alberne were lost in a sudden explosion of tons of sand and fiery blue light. Their cries of horror were instantly stifled, and nothing except the cruel, hard desert was aware of it.

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	22. Farewell, Colonel

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **We go back to those who are left in the temple…

**Chapter 22**

Indiana Jones was choking, suffocating on his own scream, and found himself coughing it back down from where it had snagged somewhere in the middle of his throat. His eyes widened and a sheltering hand cupped over Lyddie's bullet wound.

In all his years of archaeology, of all the supernatural events he had experienced, he had never seen anything like this. 

The remaining persons—there were only eight of them, now—watched the lion's leap like a slowed movie, like they were thinking through a muddied dream. They saw every taut muscle ripple and pull, and noticed the claws emerging from the animal's huge paws. Velheim's whitewashed face shone centimeters from the lion's enormous, gaping mouth, which was ready to engulf the colonel like a tsunami would swallow up a seaside city.

All at once the film sped up, they awoke from their dreams, and the blue-green form of the lion closed the few centimeters that separated it from its prey, its jaws consuming Velheim's entire, gray-haired head, moving down, down, gulping him up… and the spectators could still see the Nazi through the lion's flesh, his face twisted into something like fear and agony.

It had taken in the colonel in one mouthful, and the creature's hazy-colored front paws landed on the cobblestone ground with nothing more than a soft, breezy thump. But the moment a single claw touched the ground, the ghost vanished in a mysterious breeze that ripped the cat in two and swirled the pieces into nothingness.

"What happened?" 

"Alessa, you okay?" 

"Lyddie, dear, hold on just a little longer…"

It took a moment for the group to recover, shaking their heads and blinking uncertainly, and then they realized—

"Colonel!"

Velheim was still standing there.

One of his last two soldiers rushed up to him and peered into his pasty face, making sure that he was still alive and hadn't been frozen with fear. "Herr Oberst?" he prompted hesitantly. "Sir, are you all right?"

The colonel stared into the face of the boy. "What happened?" he croaked in a dry voice, his face twitching peculiarly. 

"Der Löwe tried to eat you, Herr Oberst," the soldier replied, taking note of how odd the words sounded when they were spoken. 

"Too bad it didn't succeed," murmured Henry to Indiana, and for once his son did not reprimand him. Lyddie coughed roughly in the professor's lap, and Indiana reached over and touched her cheek with his own bloody hands, comforting her as best he could.

"Colonel—?"

A sudden, abrasive sound like the rasping of sandpaper against wood shattered the uncomfortable soldier's question, and everybody looked toward Velheim.

He was laughing.

His form was quaking with frenzied amusement, his pale features contorted into cruel expressions of ridicule and glee. Tears were escaping out of the corners of his closed eyes, and faultless teeth glared from between thin lips. His pair of soldiers looked incredulously at one another, thinking that their superior had apparently gone mad.

On the ground, Indiana pulsed with anger, his fists clenched. He was just about to get up and give Velheim a very large piece of his mind, when another figure stomped past him.

"Alessa, what are you doing?" exclaimed Henry, incapable of hiding his puzzlement and concern.

The woman, in a state of blatant fury, had marched right up beside the cackling Velheim, and now stared crossly at his blissful face. Her bright green eyes narrowed, her perfectly square jaw tightened, and, to everyone's profound surprise, Alessa Harding slapped the Nazi commander right across his face.

Her friends' jaws hung slack as Velheim's mad chortling immediately changed to a choked-up cough. He was doubled over again, heaving now from lack of air instead of from laughter. And from his mouth two smoky tendrils of blue mist drifted and uncurled…

Lyddie gave a poorly concealed, painful cry from where she was pillowed in Henry's knees, and the Jones gripped her shoulder tightly, seeming to think that somehow it would force her to stay alive. Nearby, Sallah's mouth was open in a quiet look of unbelieving bewilderment.

"Dr. Jones," he whispered, captivated, not daring to take his eyes off Velheim.

The colonel was standing with his hands clawing forcefully at his uniform collar, and his blue eyes were watching the writhing smoke twisting out of his throat. Alessa, knitting her smooth brow, stepped back timidly, out of reach of the slowly growing, rope-like haze. Velheim gagged and his eyes popped out of their sockets; he was looking like he would have thrown up if he were able, had his esophagus not been blocked completely.

Indiana watched the grayish cord unwind, floating like a thick, translucent snake, and then saw it slowly coil back, heading in the direction of Velheim's exposed neck. Bit by bit, it twisted around, a living hangman's rope. The colonel fell to his knees, one hand on the smoke's strangling hold and the other supporting his increasing weight. His eyeballs were liable to fall out at any moment now, and the thunderstruck audience half expected them to.

His visage a disgusting shade of plum, Velheim made a vomiting face and his hand slipped so that his elbow now held him up. His fist balled itself and then flopped lifelessly, only to be clasped again, stretching the expensive leather gloves he wore. 

With the last of his strength, he lifted his head and glared straight at Lydia Marques and the Joneses with a hatred that ran deeper than words. His large, strikingly sapphire eyes screamed with indescribable loathing. The last thoughts that ran through his clouded mind were never to be known.

When the Nazi's supporting arm slipped and he collapsed, the greatest turbulent cyclone of all stormed through the chamber. Alessa was blown clear off her feet, and Sallah, Indy, and Henry threw themselves over Lyddie's weakening form. Dazzling light washed the room in luminance whiter and hotter than the sun's, and Velheim thrashed about on the ground and somehow caved in on himself. Wind seemed to tear his flesh right off his skeleton and then carry his bones away like dust.

Radiance swept all sense of perception away from the temple's occupants, hiding the Nazis' dooms from the rest of them. Indiana remembered closing his eyes as firmly as he could against the light and still being blinded, and then yelling something at the top of his lungs that no one could hear, including himself. He could recall groping for and clutching his father's arm.

And when the strange wind-and-light storm drew back suddenly, nobody moved until they were sure the unexpected eruption had receded. Indiana lifted his face and blinked, seeing nothing for a second except the same brilliant glow he had tried so hard to block out, and then realized he was still gripping Henry's blood-spattered limb. He removed his hand and carefully pushed himself up from where he had arched himself protectively over Lyddie.

He could make out Alessa, climbing gingerly to her feet at the other side of the room, and soon Henry and Sallah's heads popped up beside him. "Is everybody all right?" he asked wearily, his eyesight still blotchy. 

Henry's dark gaze swept the area. "They're gone," he remarked, looking for remains of the Germans but not really wanting to find any. The backpacks and supplies still rested on the ground, their contents strewn about from the wind. Sallah was tipping his head forward, a waterfall of sand cascading in front of his brown eyes from the felt hat he wore.

Suddenly, a sharp gasp pierced the heavy silence of the hall, resonating eerily. Everybody looked at the elder Jones in confusion.

Henry was gently cradling Lydia Marques's head in his lap, and her pale, lifeless face held the faintest remnants of a smile.

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	23. The End of the Adventure

**DISCLAIMER: ** I do not own any of the _Indiana Jones_ characters.  The only characters of mine (Lydia Marques, Alessa Harding, Hedrick Velheim) have just temporarily joined the Joneses on one of their adventures.  No copyright infringement on any of George Lucas's/Steven Spielberg's works is intended.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  **:)  I ask that you **please read this chapter even if you hated the previous few.  Things are coming to an end… **

**Chapter 23**

            Alessa dropped to her knees on the spot, the color draining rapidly from her cheeks. "She's not…?" The woman stared pleadingly at Indiana. "Is she?"

            The archaeologist drew his hand back from Lyddie's neck, where he had been checking for a pulse. He stared uncomprehendingly into her young countenance, his lips moving faintly, his head shaking in denial. Tears brimmed in his hazel eyes, and he looked away, all words failing him and slipping from his usually practiced grasp. 

            "Oh, no," Alessa gasped, clamping both hands over her mouth. Every person stared, hard and long, at Lydia's motionless form.

Sallah crushed his fez into his sun-browned hands and clutched it at the center of his broad chest, beginning to rock himself back and forth. He repeatedly brought the crumpled fabric up to wipe his sweaty forehead.

Henry breathed in a quick lungful of air but did not release it at once, and when he did it was a slow, painful sigh of grief. Arms and legs had gone numb from shock, and no one could move for some time, much less remember to breathe. They could only observe sullenly the sly, contented expression that Lydia Marques had painlessly slipped into the moment she fell away from the world.

Swiping quickly at his eyes, Indiana rose and wiped his hands on the pants that stuck dirtily to his legs. "I… guess we need to get out of here," he muttered tentatively with a sniff, his fingers unnecessarily straightening the brim of his fedora. His father lifted his head blankly, and then slowly stood as well, careful not to jostle Lyddie too much. 

Henry ran a hand over his bristling gray beard and swallowed. Ripping his gaze away from his silent friend, he asked softly, with the slightest of gesturing nods, "Are we… er…?" He leveled his glasses uneasily.

The archaeologist nodded curtly. "Sallah and I'll carry her."

Indiana's friend complied at once with an unenthusiastic nod of his own and hoisted himself up with a knee. He used his hat as a napkin a final time, and then did his best to flatten it against his mop of curly black hair.

Drawing himself out of a sudden daze, Indy focused his stare at Henry and informed, "I don't care about if the water's sanitary anymore. I'm going to… wash my hands." He had been on the verge of saying, "to wash the blood off my hands," but everyone's stomachs were churning with nausea by now, and Indiana knew that sort of comment would only add to the tension. "I—I'll be right back," he grumbled sulkily as he wandered off.

He was so lost in thought and guilt that he didn't know anyone had followed him until he reached the basin at the feet of the statue of Jesus, where he just stared into the cloudy water until his father's deep voice prodded him into the present.

"Are you all right, Junior?"

Indiana looked up from his muddled reflection and nodded. He rested his hands on the square slab of rock that had been mounted on a squat pillar, serving as a rugged tabletop for the bowl seated in its dusty center.

Henry peeked over his shoulder at the others and forged a weak smile at his son. "It wasn't your fault, you know that," he said in a matter-of-fact, forced calm sort of voice, dipping his hands into the warm water. Somehow, it managed to feel dry on his dirty, blood-covered fingers. 

The archaeologist followed his father's example, suddenly very intent on getting every bit of grime scrubbed off of his hands. "I know," he said automatically.

Henry fell silent for a minute, letting his hands soak in the murky fluid while Indiana intently washed his face and neck. "Indiana—" he began, and the young man didn't even glimpse up to acknowledge his father's words.

That broke Henry's façade. "For God's sake, Junior, don't do this!" With his outburst, he unexpectedly slapped his hand down into the contents of the bowl, tipping the container halfway on its side and splashing a large amount of water onto the ground. A crack had formed in the basin's stone surface. Indiana dried his hands on his moldy-looking shirt, looking just as irritated as Henry.

"Do what, sir?" he replied, biting the words off his tongue.                                             

Fuming and struggling not to show it, the senior Jones breathed loudly through his nose and looked down where the others waited. "Nothing, Junior," he decided, licking his dry lips. "I only want you to realize that we… we will all miss her." He tugged conclusively on the hem of his plaid, bucket-hat, so that it nearly covered his nose. "Let's just get out of this wretched place."

Taking hold of his son's elbow, Henry stepped down from the basins, his briefcase, jacket, and umbrella tucked underneath his arm. When Indy didn't follow, the professor switched his load to the other side and beckoned earnestly. "Indiana, please. I think we've all had enough of this."

The archaeologist held up a hand to silence him. He was staring fixedly at something on the ground, a curious frown badgering his features. Henry raised an eyebrow and followed his son's puzzled stare. 

Water from the broken basin was trickling steadily out of the fracture, pooling on the table-like slab of rock, and then brimming over the edge and dripping onto the ground. A small stream was running down the slanted floor from where they stood, flooding between the tiles and forming a puddle where Lyddie rested…

Indiana squatted next to the column and felt the trickling water in his fingers, watching the course of the spill. He rose and leaped over the water, never taking his eyes away from it while his trotted back to crouch beside Lydia. Henry stayed where he was, more confused than anything, Alessa and Sallah watching with equal curiosity. But then Indiana's exclamation made all of them rush closer to see. "It's blood!" he called up to his father, his frown deepening.

Henry jogged down and stood by his son. He rubbed the back of his neck, scrutinizing. With a sighing pant, he replied disappointedly, "Junior, it's only Lyddie's—"

"No," the young doctor said confidently, pointing up a little way. "It's water over there…" Everyone saw what he indicated; they caught sight of the clear water that suddenly, at a point, was stained thick red, as though someone had added dye to it. A puddle of the ruby liquid was quickly collecting beside Lyddie. "… but then it's just blood." Indiana tightened his fist around his chin.

"What does it mean?" Alessa asked doubtfully.

Indiana only exhaled noisily and shook his head cluelessly.

"Indy," said Sallah all of a sudden.

"What?"

"I… I thought…" His sentence unfinished, the round man cut himself short and shook his head. He broke his concentrating stare, which had been fixed on Lyddie. "It is nothing."

"What, Sallah?" Henry urged.

He shook his head again, like he was trying hard to get rid of a nightmare or hallucination. Uncertainly, he knit his brow down at the younger Jones. "I thought I saw the young one stir, Indy."

Indiana Jones was on his feet at once, scrambling, three-legged, over to the girl, oblivious to the water he splashed on his friends. He didn't hear Sallah explain hurriedly, "I was probably just imagining things, Indy! It's impossible, really…"

The man fell to his knees beside her, the hope making his heart pound furiously against his ribs like a huge bass drum. His wet fingers made it difficult to unbutton Lyddie's shirt again, but when he finally succeeded, he had to fight to suppress his bubbling joy.

Just ten minutes ago, Lyddie's bright crimson blood had discolored her sky-blue shirt, turning it violet and contrasting vibrantly. Red fingerprints marked her stomach where Indiana, Henry, and Sallah had worked around the bullet wound— 

"It's gone," Indiana informed his friends sharply, his fingers delicately feeling the area around Lyddie's hip where the bullet had previously embedded itself in her skin. He shook his head, smirked incredulously to himself, and said, "I don't know how, but it's gone."

"Junior," whispered a wary, and rather fearful, voice behind him.

Indiana suddenly jerked his hand back in shock, as if he had been scorched. Lyddie's form had just moved as she took a shuddering breath, her stomach twitching. The young Jones mumbled something unintelligible to himself, his eyes darting across the girl's face.

"She's…" Alessa murmured in awe.

Sallah sank down beside the archaeologist, taking deep mouthfuls of air, watching closely. Indy took Lyddie's head in his lap, and the teenager grimaced and swallowed. 

"Lyddie!" Indiana sighed, relieved, a broad, grateful grin lighting on his features. He shared an astonished look with Sallah, who wore a speechless, unsure smile.

She squeezed her eyelids together, and them allowed them to open at little, squinting into the ceiling. Groggily, she blinked up unfocusedly into Indiana's yellowish-brown irises, but then seemed to realize where she was and what had happened. Turning her head to get a better angle of Indy's smile, she gave him an expectant look, her eyebrows rising.

His grin broadening, Indiana reached down and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her head into his chest. "Boy, you gave us a scare," he beamed lopsidedly by her ear. When he pulled away, her lips were curving up as well, bringing dimples to her cheeks.

"As least I know you missed me," she said gently. Indiana blew out his held breath, his teeth flashing, and yanked playfully at her ponytail. 

The girl remained sitting upright and lifted her left arm, covered in cool, scarlet blood. It had been lying in the puddle formed from the water in the broken bowl, and she seemed to know this. Her eyes traveled immediately to the statue of Christ, and she put her free hand to her forehead, rubbing a temple. "Yikes."

"Are you all right, Miss Marques?" Sallah asked worriedly, putting a hand to her back.

Lydia glanced up and down bashfully, propping herself up further on an elbow. "Yeah, it… it just doesn't happen every day, does it? I mean… saved by the blood of Jesus… literally."

Indy allowed himself another smirk and took her hand, which felt remarkably warm. "I guess not, Lyd."

He and Sallah helped her to her feet, and Henry rushed over immediately. He took both of her arms, gripping tightly, and linked her gaze with his own, greatly amused and baffled, before enveloping her in a bone-breaking hug. His coat fell atop her thick head of hair, hiding her face as she buried it into his vest and linen shirt. "Good grief, dear!" he laughed into her shoulder. "How long were you going to make us wait?"

Everyone forgot about the medallion, lying alone under the wary lion statue's eye, which appeared to smile glowingly into the open air, its gemstone shimmering dimly.

The sky above the desert was strikingly blue, making the hills of grain-colored sand stand out sharply, the outlines of dunes meeting the heavens developing into a quite extraordinary landscape. The sun dangled halfway between midday and nightfall, casting soft golden daylight over the desert and accentuating the ripples in the sea of smooth earth with tinges of black. This was the sort of evening you never wanted to miss—even in the wastelands of Israel—when the temperature was just beginning to fall, becoming perfect, and the sun stretched your shadows back like rubber bands from your heels. 

Indiana Jones thought all of this as he hauled himself up from the ancient ladder in the rock's vertical side to linger beside his father. Henry Jones was gazing downhill, one eye open and the other pinched shut, at the jeep and truck parked on the ledge overlooking the gorge. The professor turned toward his son, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses and flashing gold flames into his vision. 

"Quite a climb," he remarked smoothly, his rough voice carrying hints of his normal lightheartedness and mockery. He threw his head in the direction of the vehicles. "I don't see how we ever got up here."

Lyddie's head emerged from behind the cliff's edge, her hands gripping for a hold in the uneven stone. Pulling herself over, she dusted the grime from her palms and let her legs dangle over the side as she waited, gazing at the deeply ridged canyon that loomed in obscurity before her. She moved aside for Sallah, who, as soon as he was situated safely, panted heavily and scratched the side of his nose. He was standing at an angle, one foot propped on a level step and the other pointed sideways on the pebbly incline. Wiping his forehead on a clean corner of his jacket, he chortled sonorously. "It will be fun going down, eh?"

Lyddie rose with a silent smile when Alessa Harding finally arrived, with the help of Indiana, but Henry only scowled. "I wouldn't say fun," he said dismally, staring down the rock-strewn hill. "Easier, maybe. I would rather not have ten holes in the seat of my pants, but I guess I will have to survive."

"Even if that's the way you'll turn out, you will be sitting down all the way to Hebron anyway, Henry," Alessa pointed out, running her fingers through her tangled blonde hair, which in some way didn't really look untidy at all. "No one will be able to see."

Sallah, looking intently downward, frowned suddenly and wondered aloud, "Were there not two jeeps?" 

"I believe so," said Henry slowly, but then he merely shrugged. "Probably our cowardly Nazi friend took off with his comrade and got lost. Morons," he added to himself.

Indiana took a blundering step, his feet skidding a meter or two. Embarrassed, he straightened his fedora and motioned the others along after him. Alessa took his outstretched hand, daintily picking her way over the ground. "You wanna drive, Lyd?" he called over his shoulder to the adolescent girl, only partly joking.

She grinned craftily, not answering. Her hand clenched tightly the few wiry stems of a protruding plant while her shoes kicked away pebbles and sand. "You gonna be all right, Henry?" she inquired when the professor's step faltered dangerously. 

He shook his head and threw a reassuring, tooth-filled smile her way, swinging his briefcase and umbrella reflexively. "I'm fine, Lyddie, I just—" He switched his bundle and his balance hastily. "I am just going to take a little while, that's all."

"We're more or less there," the girl continued, flinching when Sallah's foot missed her fingers by centimeters. 

"Got any holes yet, Dad?" Indy shouted ahead of them, nearly at the bottom. Henry only pursed his lips in mild indignation, his dark eyes aflame with good humor.

Lyddie could have sworn, as all of them slowly began to make their ways to the foot of the slant, toward the jeeps and the end of the adventure, that Henry had murmured something to himself, under his breath.

"In any case, there's one sufficient improvement… at least we aren't riding camels."

_FINIS_.

I hope that things didn't end too cheesily for anyone.  :)  _Secret of the Holy Medallion_ is now completed.  Thank you very much for reading!  Please let me know what you think.


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